


An Avenger in Erebor

by lindajenner



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 14:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 28,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindajenner/pseuds/lindajenner
Summary: Who do the Valar turn to when they need help?The Asgard, of course.Who do the Asgard turn to when they can't help?The Avengers, of course.What they get is a supersoldier/spyssassin... But it's going to cost them.So what happens when Bucky meets Bilbo?What happens when a crack shot meets the Shire's Conker champion?What happens when Bilbo wants to play with Bucky's toys?





	1. Seeking Help

Manwë Súlimo, king of the Valar, sat beside Odin, king of Asgard and the two watched in amusement as Aulë tried to convince Thor to lend him the Warriors Three.

He wasn’t having much luck.

Thor knew that Aulë wanted to help those who looked to him, but the Warriors Three were on a task handed down by the Norns themselves and were likely to be unavailable for quite some time.

“My Son?" Odin spoke, just loud enough to be heard by the bickering demi-gods.

“Father?” Thor replied.

“If Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun are unable to assist Aulë, might there be another option?”

“Another option, Father?”

“What of your compatriots from Midgard? Are there not those among them that might assist Aulë?”

“I… I do not know. They are divided, Father. The Man of Iron and the Captain do not agree on the future of Sargent Barnes. Moreover, I do not think that the Man of Iron’s technology will function on Arda.”

“Hmm… that is something to consider.” Odin hummed for a few seconds. “Taking Midgard technology out of the equation, Thor, if it came to a fight, a hand to hand fight? Who among them would you chose to stand at your side?”

“That is not a difficult choice, Father. In hand to hand there are only two who are the equal of Asgard and in truth? Their skills in this, far outweigh my own.”

Odin blinked, that was not what he had expected to hear his son say. To declare that they were better than a prince of Asgard? This prince of Asgard? It was unheard of.

“And who are they?”

“The Captain, Steve Rogers and the Winter Soldier, James Barnes.” Thor paused. “Strictly speaking, the Captain is the better tactician, but in actuality? Sargent Barnes’ training as the Winter Soldier make him a far more effective warrior than the Captain. Add to this, his arm and his ability to multitask. Father? If it came to battle between the two? It would be a close battle and hard won, but I would lay my wager behind the Sargent.”

“Indeed? Then perhaps you would call upon them to assist Aulë.” It wasn’t a question.

“Father, they are not subject to my will, I cannot in good conscience volunteer them without discussing the matter with them. And there is the Sargent’s medical condition to take into consideration, also.”

“Medical condition?” Odin inquired.

“The Sargent was taken captive by an enemy many years ago. They abused and tortured him, removing his arm and replacing it with a metal one. They erased his memory using a device that channelled lightening through his body and mind, in addition triggers were placed in his mind, a specific word or phrase was used to control the weapon that they made him into. He and the Captain now fear that those triggers will be used against him. He does not trust his own mind, lest it be used to destroy his loved ones.”

As Thor told of the history of the Sargent, Odin frowned, Manwë’s jaw tightened and Aulë began to rumble.

“Appalling. That decent people would do such a thing!” Aulë growled, viscously.

“The people who did this were **_not_** decent people, they were monsters, they cared not for the pain and torment they inflicted. They cared only for the results, for the weapon they would have. The Captain has vowed to eradicate them, but until the Sargent’s mind is his own? The Captain will wait. While they share no blood, they are brothers and he will not leave his brother undefended.”

“Then go to them, ask that they both return here and meet with Aulë, so that he may present his own request of them. Mayhap the Valar can heal this Sargent.” Odin stated.

“I will go to Heimdall and ask him to locate the Captain and the Sargent. They may not be in a place suitable for the Bifrost to reach them.” Thor bowed to his father. “Father. My lord Manwë. Aulë, give me time to speak with my friends.” With that Thor left the throne room.

He made his way to the observation chamber.

“My prince.” Heimdall greeted him.

“Heimdall, my friend. I have need of your assistance.”

“It is, as ever, yours. What is it you would ask? Your Lady Jane fairs well, as does your Lightning Sister, Lady Darcy.”

“That is good to hear, but today they are not the purpose of my visit. Today, I would have you look for my shield brothers, Captain Rogers and Sargent Barnes. Father and Lord Manwë would have me extend an invitation to them. Aulë has petitioned for assistance for his dwarrow and with the Warriors Three unavailable, Father thought that perhaps the Captain or the Sargent may provide that assistance.”

“It is not often the Valar ask for assistance.” Heimdall replied, with a frown.

“No, it is not, my friend. Can you see them?”

“Of course, my prince. The Captain stands protector for the Sargent. I would suggest that you go to them rather than bringing them here, at least initially. I can direct the Bifrost to a garden space that the Captain visits daily, he is there as we speak.” Heimdall informed him.

“In that case?” Thor grinned broadly. “Open the Bifrost, Heimdall.”

Heimdall laughed and with a tweak of his sword the rainbow bridge descended from Asgard to Midgard. Thor clapped the Gatekeeper on the shoulder as he passed and began the journey to his friends.

 

When the flash of light fell from the sky and hit the lawn in front of him, Steve Rogers fell off the branch he was perched on, sketching. By the time he’d regained his feet, Thor was walking towards him.

“Captain! It is pleasing to see you.” Thor bowed to the blonde man.

“Thor? What on earth-?” Steve shook his head. “What brings you to Wakanda?”

“I have been asked to provide assistance to a… well, to one who is my equal. I would speak with you about it.”

“Me? Why me?” Steve frowned.

“Let us sit where we may discuss the matter in full, my friend.” Thor suggested, gesturing to a bench near a wall.

 

It took Thor more than 20 minutes to explain to Steve what he knew of the Valar and of Aulë’s request.

“But Bucky’s in cryo-freeze, Thor.”

“I know. Think on this… If you and the Sargent were to provide assistance to Aulë? There is no chance of someone setting off his triggers, there is no one on Arda that can speak the language his triggers are spoken in.”

“True… but…”

“Think also on this… Aulë is the Smith, the Worker of Metal, his Lady wife is Yavanna, the Lady of Fruits. Her sister princess is Nienna, the Merciful. She is the greatest healer to ever exist… in any realm or universe. If anyone can help the Sargent regain control of his mind, it is Nienna. Perhaps an agreement can be reached? Assistance for assistance?”

“It’s certainly something to think about… but we’d have to bring Bucky out of cryo first and… I’m hesitant to do it.”

“I understand, Captain, but if it will help him? Surely he would be prepared to listen?”

Steve thought quietly and Thor waited patiently.

“I need to speak to Tony.” Steve said suddenly.

“The Man of Iron? I did not think the two of you agreed on the Sargent’s… situation?”

“We don’t. But… this might change that. Can you spare an hour or so, Thor?”

“I can.” Thor nodded.

“Good. Let’s go back to my room. We can call Tony from there.” Steve lead the way from the garden and through a number of halls, stopping at a door bearing the number 107.

He swiped a card past a reader beside the door and opened the door. Once inside he gestured to a sofa and crossed the room to a cupboard. His hand emerged from the cupboard holding an older style flip phone, joining Thor in the lounging area, he opened the phone and sent a message.

Both Thor and Steve sat quietly as they waited for a response.

The phone rang within minutes and Steve lifted it to his ear.

“Hey Tony…”

“Cap.” A tinny voice answered. “You rang?”

“Tony. We… we might have a solution to the Bucky situation.”

“How?” Tony barked.

“Asgard and some of their allies. They want help and Thor thinks that we might be able to do a trade, our help for their healer’s help.”

“The ICC will insist on someone independent observing any treatment.”

“They’ll need documentation, won’t they?”

“Yep. I can ask some questions, see who’s likely to be sent.”

“Thanks, Tony…. Tony?” Steve added after a pause.

“Cap?”

“Thank you. For… everything…” Steve said hesitantly.

“No worries, Cap.” Tony replied so quietly that it was only Steve’s super-soldier hearing that allowed him to pick up what was said.

“If we can get it documented… the brainwashing, I mean, do you think… do you think we can get past this?” Steve hesitated, but forced himself to continue. “I miss my friends. I miss the team.” He took a deep breath. “I miss you.”

“I dunno, Cap… but we can try.” Tony sighed. “I’ll call you back with a name.” With that the call disconnected.

Steve looked at Thor.

“I guess we wait… again.”

“It appears so. Perhaps we can meet with the Hawk and Wanda? And your other allies? Mayhap partake in a meal?” Thor asked.

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Steve grinned.


	2. Half-assed Explanations

Twelve hours later, Steve watched as his best friend, his brother, Sargent James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, the Winter Soldier, opened his eyes for the first time in almost a year. It took another hour before Bucky stopped shuddering and was able to speak well enough to understand.

“P-p-punk-k?” He stuttered.

“It’s okay, Buck, you’re safe. We’re still in Wakanda, but we may have a solution for you.”

“W-wha?”

“Thor… or allies of Asgard. They want our help and Thor thinks we might be able to trade… our help for theirs.”

Bucky frowned.

“H-how?”

“Thor says that one of them is the greatest healer to exist. We gotta try, Bucky.”

Bucky shuddered again.

“T-ta the e-end of the l-line…” He whispered.

“To the end of the line, Buck.” Steve repeated.

Bucky nodded.

Steve patted him gently on the knee and left the room, he approached Thor as the demi-god watched Bucky through a window into the room.

“It will take an hour or so for him to be able to walk. If we come with you to speak to… Aulë, did you say? Once we’ve heard what he needs, we may need to come back and retrieve equipment. Is that likely to be an issue?”

“Nay, my friend, ‘twil not. I know not the situation that you will be entering, but I know Aulë, he would not ask for assistance without reason.” Thor stated.

“Well, I’m gonna get him some clothes and some food. He’ll need to eat before we do anything.” Steve nodded to Thor and as he departed, Thor heard him mutter. “Stupid super soldier metabolism.”

 

Another four hours saw two soldiers and a prince emerge from the Bifrost. Steve and Bucky looking around in fascination, eager to see the sights that Asgard offered. Thor lead the pair across walkways and through halls, until they reached a truly massive Hall. At the far end of a great, pillared expanse sat a raised Throne, it was empty right now, but Bucky had listened to Thor enough that he knew that the man – God – that occupied it, was not someone to be messed with. He began to feel more confident about the situation, if someone that powerful believed that he could be helped, treated, given his mind back? Maybe there was a chance?

“My Son!” A voice boomed from a side area. “Join us, bring your companions.” Bucky spun in place, his body dropping into a fighting stance, his knees bent, his arm tensing, readying for battle.

Thor smiled and changed direction, Steve less than a second behind him, while Bucky was already moving towards the balcony.

“My Son, will you not introduce your companions?” An older man asked. His golden eye-patch, dark gold armour and cape made him look bulkier than perhaps he really was, but the resemblance to Thor was clear, this was Odin, King of Asgard and Thor’s father.

“Father, may I present Captain Steve Rogers and Sargent James Barnes? The Captain is known on Midgard as Captain America and the Sargent is known as the Winter Soldier. My friends? This is my father, Odin. To his right is Manwë Súlimo, King of the Valar of Arda. The redhead further to the right is Aulë, it is he who has requested assistance. The three Ladies are Lady Nienna, the Merciful, she is a mighty healer, Lady Yavanna, the Lady of Fruits, wife of Aulë and Lady Sif, one of my most trusted friends and a warrior of great renown.”

“Sirs, Ma’ams.” Steve didn’t know how to acknowledge royalty. But Bucky did.

“My Lords.” He made a shallow bow to each of the males. “My Ladies.” A deeper bow to each lady and he stepped back in an at-ease position.

“Captain, Sargent.” Odin acknowledged. “Thank you for joining us. Thor has told us of your conversation and your concerns. Sargent? With your permission, Nienna would like to touch your mind. This is so that she may divine whether or not she can assist you. Will you allow this?”

Barnes studied the dark-haired lady intently for a few seconds before he spoke.

“I will… but? Tony Stark told Steve that the International Criminal Court will insist on having an independent observer for any treatment.”

“Why? Why would they insist on such a thing?” Manwë asked.

“Ah, because-” Steve got not further before Barnes cut him off.

“While I was under HYDRA’s control, I did many bad things, I killed and murdered many people. Destroyed buildings and lives with no regard. Presidents, scientists, doctors, accountants, military personnel, even children. And I didn’t care. I **_couldn’t_** care. HYDRA had turned my mind off and all I knew was the **_mission_**.”

“Buck…”

“ ** _No_** … Steve, no… No more hiding, no more secrets. HYDRA **_made_** **_me_**  into a weapon, they made me into  ** _their_** weapon. To be pointed and fired as **_they_** needed… but not anymore. There’s blood on my hands, I may not have been the one making the decisions, but I **_was_** the trigger they pulled. The International Court will insist on a observer, someone to verify that my actions were not my own, that I was as much a victim as those that died at my hands. That when I fell from the train in 1945, I became a POW, a Prisoner of War, and remained just that until HYDRA fell in 2014. It is the only way to clear my name and remove me from the world’s Most Wanted lists. Tony Stark has given us the name of the man that is the most likely to be that observer… and if you can help, I would like him there. My Lady, I would like him to see exactly what they did to me. But, my Lady? If you look into my mind, understand this… What you will see is not nice, it is horrific, it may well give you nightmares for the rest of your days.” Barnes warned.

The lady stood and glided across the balcony towards him, Barnes tensed as she drew near. He still struggled with letting people close, but if she could help? He would let her put her delicate little hands on his head. Nienna stopped when she was within arms reach of Barnes, slowly, making no effort to hide her actions, she lifted one hand until it was in front of his face. If he stepped forward, her hand would come to rest on his cheek, she waited and with a sigh, Barnes took that step.

All on the balcony froze as they heard the gasp of air leave Nienna’s lips, but no one moved. For minute after minute they stayed as still and as silent as statues. Finally Nienna stepped back from the Sargent, tears running down her face, disappearing into the air as they fell. She turned to Steve and whispered.

“Go. Go fetch me this man that would be the watcher. Bring him to me. I **_cannot_** leave the Sargent in such pain, I **_must_** help him.” She staggered backward as though all strength had been removed.

Barnes saw her begin to wilt and reacted, he stepped forward and grabbed at her, lifting her into his arms he carried her to a seat and gently set her down. He turned to Yavanna and Sif and waved them over.

“I have no idea what she needs, so I hope you do.” He said as the two ladies reached his side.

“I do, Sargent.” Said Yavanna taking Nienna's hands.

“Good.” The Sargent turned to Steve. “Go on, get.” Something occurred to him as Steve reached the doorway. “Steve? Wait.” Steve stopped but didn’t turn.

Barnes turned to Odin.

“My Lord? May I ask for a second observer?”

“Why would you want that? If Nienna's reaction is to judge by, no observer will be untouched.”

“Exactly, my Lord. While under HYDRA’s control, one of my missions was the death of Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark, Iron Man. He doesn’t trust me and that’s understandable. He was – **_is_** – Steve’s friend, but he feels betrayed by Steve. I would… I would show him… I would **_trust_** him to see me at my weakest.”

Odin studied the man who still knelt at the side of Nienna's chair. Dark hair touching his shoulders, unshaven, yes, but his eyes showed pain. Such pain. And guilt. Something in him called to Odin, he wanted this man to have his absolution, to have freedom, to have peace. Without hesitation he made a decision.

“Sargent Barnes? You may have whatever observers you desire. Moreover? If this International Court does not grant you your freedom, Asgard will.” Thor gasped. “You will not pay for what others have made you do. From this day, you may claim Asgard as your home. Give your brother whatever instructions you wish, Asgard will honour them.”

Barnes looked at the stunned amazement on the faces of Thor and Sif and realised that what Odin offered was exceptionally generous. He smiled openly at the King.

“Thank you, my Lord.” He dipped his head in a bow, before turning back to Steve. “Ask Stark to come too. I want him to be here. I want him to see. Ask him to bring something that can record hours, maybe days of video. The observer can verify that Stark recorded my memories, but I want the entire Court to see what I went through. If I could, I’d have the entire world see it, but that’s… that’s not fair to the people of Earth.”

“No, it is not.” Nienna agreed, shuddering.

“But Stark? Yeah, he needs to know, he needs to know **_everything_**.”

“Are you sure, Bucky?” Steve asked, still not facing the balcony, his hand gripping the stone archway.

“No… but do it anyway. You trust him, punk, so… so will I.”

“And Clint, Wanda, Scott, Sam? What of them? What about the others?”

“If Tony comes, any of them can, too. No more secrets, punk. I’m so tired of secrets. I’ve lived the last 70 years as a secret… no more, please, Steve.” Barnes begged.

Steve’s hand let go of the stone and he turned back to Bucky, he crossed the balcony and dragged the other man to his feet. With a yank he pulled Bucky into his arms and hugged him tight.

“You are my best friend, my brother, James Barnes. I will give you anything – everything – you want. If that means dragging Tony here by the heels then, consider it done. Talk to Aulë, find out what he needs. You followed me, now it’s my turn to follow you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Steve squeezed Barnes one more time and stepped back. “Thor? Would you or Lady Sif show me how to get back to Heimdall, please?”

Lady Sif stood and moved to Steve’s side.

“This way, Captain.” She said, gesturing to the left.

 


	3. A More in-Depth Explanation

Barnes left Nienna's side and joined Aulë near the railings.

“So? You want help? What sorta help?” The Sargent asked.

“I am Aulë, many eons ago I went against our father’s wishes and created children, children who look to me as a God. They call me Mahal, they look to me for protection, for wisdom. Now they need help and our father has forbidden my brothers and I entrance to Arda.” He sighed. “Manwë beseeched Erú Ilûvatar, our father, but he will not rescind his command. Yavanna tried, also, but she gained nothing, either. It was Nienna that finally won a concession from Erú. We, the Valar, can not enter Arda, but we can send another, a _**mortal**_ only, in our place.”

“But you came here, asking for warriors from Asgard. I thought the Asgardians were immortal?” Barnes frowned.

“Not all of them. The royal family, certainly, but the ones I sought are not. I sought the famous – or infamous – Warriors Three. Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun. I believed their assistance enough to turn the tide for my children, my dwarrow.”

“Right, best start at the beginning, then. What have they got into?”

“The rightful King of my dwarrow is a strong and stubborn dwarf, Thorin Oakenshield. He leads a Company of 13 dwarrow, one Wizard and a hobbit. They plan to reclaim Erebor, the mightiest of the dwarf nations, from the fire drake, Smaug. Smaug attacked Erebor over 170 years ago, driving out my dwarrow, leaving them homeless. They wandered the world for decades until Thorin’s grandfather, Thrór, tried to reclaim another lost nation, Khazad-dûm. Many died that day, including Thrór. His son, Thráin, Thorin’s father, went mad in his grief and was captured by their enemy, the Orcs. Now, Thorin leads what remains of my children.”

“What’s a fire drake?”

“A dragon, Sargent. Smaug is a dragon, he is 200 feet long, can fly and breathe fire. No ordinary weapon can kill him.”

“Hmm… I wonder if a 50 cal could?” Barnes mused.

“A what?”

“Ah… weapon I specialised in using. Please continue.”

“Very well. Thorin has left command of most of the dwarrow with his sister, Dís - she is a typical Durin, strong, stubborn with a fierce heart – while Thorin takes his small band of warriors to Erebor. Time runs quickly and soon they will reach and then leave Esgaroth’s Laketown on the last leg of their journey, but there is more awaiting them than just a dragon.”

“More? Great. Keep going. What else?” Barnes groaned.

“An army of elves lead by Thranduil, the elf-king of Eryn Galen, will come from the south. An army of Orcs from the west, lead by Azog the Defiler. A second army of Orcs from the north, lead by Azog’s spawn, Bolg.”

“Great. Just great. Okay… weapons. What type of weapons do they have? Your dwarrow? The elves? The Orcs?”

Odin and Manwë joined them and the four leant on the stone balustrade.

“Primitive ones for the most part, Sargent. Bows and arrows, swords, knives, war-hammers, maybe some cross-bows. That type of thing.” Odin was the one to answer Barnes’ question.

“Do they have gun powder?”

“They do. They have variant of it, not as powerful, more flash than destructive.”

“Projectile weapons?” Barnes’ voice had an almost pleading tone to it.

“Other than cross-bows? No.”

Odin watched in amazement as Barnes held his head in his hands and swore fluently and creatively in Russian… for nearly five whole minutes. He was most impressed at the man's vocabulary.

“Great. 17 against 3 whole armies. No guns, no grenades, nothing. They’re dead.”

“No.” Said Manwë. “Vairë says that when the Orcs attack, the elves will join with the dwarrow. Add to this another 500 dwarrow warriors from the Iron Hills to the east, lead by Thorin’s cousin, Daín? They are not as nearly outmatched as you would think. But Vairë also says that without intervention from Asgard, Thorin will die, as will Fíli and Kíli, his sister-sons and heirs. After all that their family have sacrificed for their people, to loose them now, would be devastating and not just for Aulë, but Arda.”

“Hmm… How big are these Orc armies? How many in each?”

“Azog leads roughly 15,000 Orcs, goblins and wargs, with a few trolls thrown in for structural assault. Bolg leads a smaller force, but it’s still more than half that of Azog’s.”

“Damn. Right. Give me minute.” Barnes began pacing, back and forth across the balcony, muttering in Russian all the while. Finally he looked up. “Got any maps? Topographical maps?”

“We have better than that.” Odin said with a smile. “Come, to the War Room.” As he left the balcony, Odin called a guard. “Inform me when the Lady Sif and the Captain Rogers return from Midgard. We will be in the War Room.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The guard replied.

After seeing Yavanna slide her arm through that of Aulë, Barnes offered his arm to Nienna and followed Odin and his son. More halls and some stairs, around a corner and two guards opened a massive set of doors. Once inside, Barnes looked at a large table in the centre of the room, it was the only furniture, barring a few bench-like chairs. He and Aulë both escorted the ladies to a bench, before joining Odin, Thor and Manwë at the table.

Odin and Aulë clasped wrists and Odin waved a hand over the edge of the table. The surface began to change, rippling, falling and rising, until it was a clear three dimensional map of Erebor and it’s surrounds.

Before they could progress any further, a guard entered and informed them that the party of travellers from Midgard had arrived.

 

They met in the Throne Room. Odin greeting them with cautious welcome. Three of the women with the party left them immediately, all three going to stand with Thor. The Captain stood in front of the travellers, as usual, and introduced them in an impersonal manner.

“My Lords, Ladies. May I present Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow.” A striking woman with rich red hair, nodded and stepped to one side. “Tony Stark, Iron Man.” A short man with dark hair and a beard only on his chin waved and joined the woman. “Vision, bearer of an Infinity Stone.” A slender man with skin a deep red-pink colour also joined the woman. “Clint Barton, the Hawkeye.” Another man smirked, waved and crossed to stand beside Barnes. “Sam Wilson, the Falcon.” A third man, this one with skin as dark as Heimdall’s, joined Barton and Barnes. “Scott Lang, Antman.” Tall with short dark hair, he too crossed to stand with Barnes. “Lastly, we have the observers, Dr Harold Mancuso, Ms Anika Jansen and Ms Skylan Wolfe.” As the Captain said their names the older man and the young two women acknowledged the throne and those gathered around it.

“Mr Mancuso is to be the independent observer, he has over fifty years experience in psychological assessment and profiling. The International Criminal Court have assigned him to study Sargent Barnes’ memories. Ms Jansen and Ms Wolfe are here to verify that the memories recorded by Mr Stark, match those shown by Mr Stark’s memory-interface technology and to supervise the recording of those memories.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Odin stated. “For those who may not know, to my right, Sargent Barnes is now surrounded by the three men who travelled with you. Next are the representatives from the Valar, Manwë, Aulë, Aulë’s wife Lady Yavanna and Lady Nienna. While to my left, my son, Thor and his Lady Jane, his Lightening Sister, Lady Darcy and the Lady Sif, a warrior of Asgard.” Each person bowed or curtseyed as Odin said their names. “Rooms have been set aside for each of you and if you wish you may retire to them to rest. If Mr Stark and the Ladies Anika and Skylan wish Thor will escort them to the healers’ rooms, so them may prepare their equipment.”

“That’d be good. Come on, Point Break, let’s do this.” Stark grabbed a piece of luggage at his feet and hiked a bag strap higher on his shoulder.

Thor laughed and bowing to the ladies, lead the small party out through a door to the rear of the throne. Mr Mancuso looked around and taking a deep breath, approached Barnes and his new entourage.

“Sargent Barnes? Is there somewhere I may speak with you? I would like to give you a run-down on the process as I see it, so that we can both work out what to expect.”

Barnes looked to Odin who nodded.

“This way then.” Barnes took a few steps and stopped, he looked over his shoulder at the Captain and those still standing near him. “You lot coming? You should know what’s gonna happen, too.”

Natasha looked at him for a few seconds and nodded, she had yet to speak. At her nod, Vision and the Captain joined Barnes and the others as they headed back to the balcony used earlier. He waved to chairs clustered at one end and smirked in amusement as the Captain hoisted himself up onto the balustrade and folded his legs under himself. Both Natasha and Barton just shook their heads, they were familiar with the Captain’s tendency for precarious seating.

“Mr Stark gave me a brief outline of how his machine works, but I’m sorry to say, that most of it was over my head.” Mancuso said.

“It’s Stark.” Barton replied. “It goes over just about _**everybody’s**_ head.”

Wilson, Steve and Natasha laughed slightly.

“Nat?” Barton said hesitantly. “You’re the only one here who’s used the memory-interface voluntarily. What was it like?”

“Natalia, you do not have to tell us. If you do not wish to, then do not say.” Barnes added.

“Yasha? Are you really going to do this?” The woman asked.

“I am.” Barnes’ voice was firm.

“Then you should know.” Natasha leaned back in her seat and hummed for nearly a minute, before continuing.

“Tony will set the cap in place, it’s made up of many electrodes and wires. You wear it like a skull cap, it’s connected to the actual interface device and the device in turn is connected to a screen. For this, however, there had to be some modifications, so that the screen is also connected to a recording device. FRIDAY and Ms Wolfe are responsible for the final layout, much to Tony’s disgust.”

Barton and Steve snorted at Natasha’s amusement.

“The next step is to calibrate the interface to the frequencies of your mind, that can be quick or it can take hours. Then it’s just a case of prompting you, giving you a date, a location, an event… and watching as you remember it.” She took a deep breath. “That all. But… that’s not all, because… you have to relive your memories… or we don’t see them. Physically it’s not painful at all… but mentally, emotionally? It is. You have to remember everything.”

She was met with silence.

 


	4. Are You Sure?

“Do you still want to do this?” Mancuso asked Barnes.

“Yeah I’m still doin’ this. But… I don’t know how much I can give before the [солдат](soldat%20\(soldier\)) takes over.”

“I don’t understand. The soldat?” Mancuso leaned forward.

“Yeah. The [солдат](soldat) is what they made me into. The Winter Soldier - [зимний солдат](Zimniy%20Soldat). It's like this other person sitting in the back of my head, just waiting for me to loose control. Given what I’ll have to remember, I’m sure he’s going to make an appearance, it’ll be when not if.”

A new voice entered the conversation.

“I may be able to assist Sargent Barnes in this matter.” The voice belonged to an older woman, with dark hair and high cheekbones, a face of beauty aging gracefully. “I am Eir, a healer of Asgard. Lady Darcy and Prince Thor suggested that my skill may be of use in the coming ordeal.”

“In what way?” While Steve didn’t snap, but it was close.

“I am a… a calmative, I have the ability to calm people, simply by touching them. I can calm someone from an emotional state or I can keep them at a particular level of emotional stress.”

“How… my Lady?” Barnes asked.

“I can restrict the Amygdala, this lessens the severity of fear. To a lesser degree I can restrict the hypothalamus, in turn reducing anger and rage. I **_cannot_** , however, increase **_any_** emotion.” She waited patiently while Barnes thought about what she’d said.

“So… you can keep me at the same level of calm as I have before we start this? Or when I reach a certain point, you can stop me from getting any worse?” The dark-haired man asked.

“Either… or both.” She replied.

“How will that affect his memories?” Natasha asked.

“It shouldn’t, really. It may give a slight air of detachment if I were to keep him to the former level. But even using the second variant and holding his emotions at a low or medium level, his memories will be intact, the only thing I would be affecting is how severe his reaction are to those memories are.” The healer paused. “Please understand I cannot eliminate your emotions, nor can I increase them. If your fear or rage are truly extreme, I may be able only to blunt their force.”

“May I make a suggestion?” Mancuso inquired.

“Of course, sir.” Lady Eir replied.

“Firstly a question… Sargent Barnes?”

“Yeah?”

“What order are you doing this in? Chronological, or recalled or severity?”

Barnes paced back forth down the length of the balcony for a few minutes, before answering.

“I think the only way to do this is in chronological order of events. My first thought was - recalled, but that puts things all over the place, no context. If I went that way, the ICC case would be even more complicated, than it is now.”

“I agree, Sargent. This needs to be as simple and as clear as we can make it. Do you have a list? Of… targets? Is that what HYDRA called them?”

“Missions, Dr Mancuso. And yes, kind of… I’ve written down what I can remember, FRIDAY and Darcy helped me to put it in order of date. But according to the files that Natalia leaked, there’s a few missions that HYDRA apparently sent me on, that I haven’t remembered, yet. I don’t know what to do about them.” Barnes told him.

“Hmm.” Mancuso hummed. “Have you had any new recollections in the last 3 months?”

“No… or rather… not that I’m aware of.”

“So… how much are you missing, do you think?”

“Darcy thinks I’m missing about 20% of the missions that HYDRA actually sent me on, according to the leaked files, there were 58 missions I was sent on, but I can only remember 47.”

“That’s a significant amount.” Mancuso warned.

“Yeah. I’m kinda hopin’ that Stark’s machine and Nienna will knock more loose. I want my mind back, Doc. The gaps? The gaps by themselves, give me nightmares. What if I was sent on missions that Karpov kept under wraps, what if there were missions HYDRA didn’t know about? How many people really died at my hands?”

“Buck-”

“Steve, stop! I was the weapon. I may not have made the decision, but I **_was_** the weapon. I need to know, Steve, for my peace of mind I need to know how many people the bastards made me kill, how many people I need to mourn.”

“But-”

“He’s right, Steve.” Natasha cut Steve off. “Those of us that didn’t have a say in our actions? We need to remember,” Natasha took a deep breath, “for me… I need to remember their faces.”

“Same here.” Said Clint. “Having the ICC declare Barnes a victim in this will enable him mourn them.”

“I’d like to say sorry to their families.” Barnes whispered.

“If the ICC acquit you, snowflake, I’ll see you get the chance.” Tony’s voice cut through the atmosphere building on the balcony. “We’re ready when you are, Cap. If you and snowflake, here, want to do the thing now, great… if you want to wait until morning, no worries.”

Steve and Barnes shared a speaking look and Barnes turned to Tony.

“Now, Stark, I want to do this now… but…” suddenly Barnes looked uncertain, “will you stay, will you watch? Please?”

“Why me? Because the Winter Soldier killed my parents?”

“No. Because… because you’ll say it straight. You don’t like me, but you’re still willing to help. If nothing else, Stark, you won’t lie. To me. To Steve. To the ICC. You’re honest, even when you probably shouldn’t be…”

“You mean, when he shouldn’t open his mouth at all? Yeah, Tony’s honest.” Sam Wilson spoke for the first time.

“Gee thanks, flyboy.” Stark muttered.

“Any time, tin man.” Wilson returned.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, you two.” Steve spoke over them. “If we’re doing this now, let’s get started. Tony? You wanna lead the way?”

“Sure, Cap. Follow me…” He said, adding almost silently, “… into hell.”


	5. Turning Corners

The room wasn’t as large as Barnes expected. There was a chair, very similar to the outdoor seats on the balcony, at the back of the room in one corner, next to it was a bench and a whole mess of wires and electronic… stuff.

“We chose this room because there’s only one door, Cap can guard it and block anyone trying to enter. And the seat’s in the corner so you can see the entire room, snowflake. The only people going to be in here are the ones you want in here. Everyone else gets to wait outside.” Tony assured Barnes. “So… who’s staying and who’s going? How many chairs we gonna need?”

“Lady Sif? Would you guard the door?” Barnes asked.

“It would be my honour, Sargent.” The Asgardian stated.

“Thank you. My Lord Odin, I would have you stay. You offered me a place here, you should know what you’re inviting into your home. Thor? I leave it to you to recommend whether Jane stays. Darcy, find a seat. Nat, Clint, Sam? You, too. Steve, find seats for Lady Yavanna and Lady Nienna, please. And Steve? I’d like you and Scott to sit with Lady Nienna, it something goes wrong, it’s down to you two to protect her, punk. Lord Manwë, Lord Aulë, if you’d like to sit with Dr Mancuso, he can explain what’s happening. Vision, sit with Natalia, she may need your logic.”

“My logic is fine, Yasha.”

“Perhaps, Natalia, but you don’t know what you will face. Just to be sure.”

“That it?” Tony asked, Barnes hadn’t mentioned him… or the two other techs.

“Yeah. I don’t know how much you technophiles have to fiddle with your dials so… do you need seats or what?”

“Once it’s set up and calibrated, we’re redundant. So… yeah, we’ll need seat, if we’re staying?”

“You’re staying, Stark. The ladies get to choose for themselves.” Barnes said.

“If you don’t mind, Sargent? I’d like to not sit through this in person.” Anika informed them.

“That is your decision, Ms Jansen. Thor, is there somewhere Ms Jansen can wait or someone that can escort her to her room?” Barnes requested.

“I’ll give Ms Jansen a tour, Sargent Barnes. I won’t be staying, either.” Thor’s Lady Jane offered.

Barnes nodded to the female scientist and crossed the room to stand beside Tony.

“Where do ya want me?”

“That’s a loaded question, snowflake. For now, catch a seat.”

Barnes sat in the chair, a flash of nerves flooding his system, forcing him to remind himself that this chair was nothing like the device HYDRA had used on him so many times. Tony stepped to his side and held out a ball covered in wires.

“Put the cap on your head and get comfy, you could be here for a while.” The mad genius grinned as he spoke.

Barnes lifted the net of wires and slipped it over his hair.

“Your toys, you wanna do the adjustments?” Barnes’ fingers were shaking.

“Aw, you just want me to play with your hair.” Even so, Tony’s fingers were making minute alterations as he taunted.

“In your dreams, Stark.”

For all the animosity between them, Tony and Barnes bantered well, the sarcastic conversation serving two purposes. One – to occupy Tony’s mouth while his hands and mind were busy and two – to ease Barnes’ tension at being back in a scientific/technical situation.

“Just let me set for the calibrations and… Whoa. That was quick. Okay, then. Ready to go, Dr Mancuso.”

“Thank you Mr Stark. Are you ready, Sargent Barnes?” When Barnes nodded, Mancuso spoke again. “Start recording, Mr Stark.” He waited again until Tony nodded. “Very well. Let us begin with stating the reason we are here…. We are here to record, verify and review the memories of James Buchanan Barnes, The Winter Soldier. Sargent Barnes? Let’s start with the capture of the 107th regiment at Azzano. Tell me about it, what happened?”

 

For the next 6 hours, Barnes showed his memories, initially he talked, but quickly realised that he could show the memories via Tony’s device much faster than he could speak. For the first 20 minutes, he’d held his control, but when it came to showing his recapture after falling from the train in the Alps, he’d paused and called for Lady Eir’s assistance. The lady sat near his feet and rested a hand on his leg, just above the ankle, this was enough contact for her to restrict his emotions, but not enough for Barnes to see her as a danger or threat to his safety.

It was disconcerting at first to see what he remembered on a screen, but it didn’t take long before he and the viewers were accustomed to it. All but Scott and Vision, they had trouble dealing with the movement of the images on the screen, as it was all from Barnes’ point of view, every move he made was shown and apparently Scott didn’t cope well with the choppy movement of first-person video and Vision kept trying to look around the objects in front of Barnes.

When he reached the fight aboard the helicarriers above the Triskellion, he paused, but at a wave from Mancuso he continued his narrative. Another hour bought them to Wakanda and waking from cry-sleep to have Steve tell him of a possible solution to regaining his mind.

“I think that’s enough for now.” Steve started, only to be cut off.

“Lady Nienna? Do you still think you can help the Buckster?” Tony asked, tears running down his face that he made no attempt to hide. He wasn’t the only one, either, most of the viewers were affected.

“Yes, Mr Stark. Now that I’ve seen it so clearly, I **_know_** that I can help him.” The slender woman replied.

“What’s it gonna take? Timewise?”

“There were three points where those monsters set the ‘triggers’ – is that what you called them? Three points in time were the ‘triggers’ were set. To remove them, we’ll have to revisit those times… but… we won’t be just viewing this time, this time, Sargent, we will be countering the implanting as you remember it happening. Time? Less than five minutes for each trigger.”

“An hour then?” Tony confirmed.

“An hour.” Nienna agreed.

“Can you do it, now?” Tony asked. Nienna nodded. “Buckster? You wanna wait til morning or you wanna do it now?”

Barnes seemed to think about it for a moment… at least until his stomach rumbled in protest.

“Can we get something to eat? First? But I’d really like to go to sleep tonight knowing that what those bastards shoved in my head is obsolete, that nothing can set them off.”

“I think that’s a very good idea, Sargent.” Odin spoke for the first time since entering the room. “We shall eat and those who wish may retire and those who do not may observe Lady Nienna’s treatment of Sargent Barnes’ triggers. If you’ll follow me.” Odin got to his feet and stretched tall before leaving the room.


	6. Attitudes

The feast that was laid out made Barnes’ mouth water. He wanted some of that. Roasted meats, baked vegetables, rich sauces, crusty breads, oozing cheeses. And that was just the stuff he recognised, there was so much on offer that he’d never seen before. A roasted animal, he could see the shape of it but, no animal… correction, no mammal on earth has six limbs and it certainly looked like a roast pig, but with extra legs... and a pair of stunted wings? Something that looked like a lobster, but the size of a turkey, with blue flesh. Blue. Another thing that looked a bit like a chicken but it had four wings. At least the flesh looked like chicken, in that it was the right colour.

Odin sat at the head of the massive table, Thor gently guiding his Lady Jane to a seat near Odin’s left. Thor, however froze in shock when Odin gestured to Barnes to take the first seat on his right, it took a moment or two for the blonde man to move again, but he said nothing as he sat directly opposite the Sargent. The other’s showed no favouritism anymore, sitting wherever was closest, though Tony shoulder barging Steve aside to sit on Barnes’ right raised a few eyebrows.

“So, Snowflake? You really want that piece of Russian crap hanging off your shoulder?” The mad genius asked, filling a plate.

“Well of course I don’t, Iron Tights, but with you and Stevie boy not speaking…? Where am I supposed to get one? Walmart? Target? Or Prosthetics R Us?” Barnes snarked.

“Ooh, the Winter Snowflake’s got an attitude.” Stark crowed.

Steve, sitting on Stark’s right, tried to smother his chuckles, but only succeeded in nearly choking himself. Darcy and Clint didn’t even try to stop their laughter.

“Uh… duh, Tights. You know what it’s like to have someone control your every movement, your old man did it for twenty years and that idiot Stane did it for another 10. Try having the bumbling morons that work for HYDRA do it for more than twice that.”

“And he was a smart-mouthed jerk even before he even joined the army.” Steve put in.

“Why did I not know this? Why did no one tell me? Snowflake, you are one saucy boy. I like it… Now, as for that monstrosity the ruskies gave you? It’s been keeping me awake since the Triskelion, driving me crazy. How could they do that? How could they give you something that bad and expect you to successfully do what they wanted? How?” Stark shook his head.

“It weren’t easy, trust me. I came in with it damaged more times than I didn’t. The techs weren’t impressed.”

“I can imagine.” Stark ate quickly for a minute or so, before adding. “I’ve got about half a dozen proto-”

“Nine.” Darcy interrupted.

“What?” Stark asked.

“Nine, Tony. There’s nine prototypes in your lab, not six.” Darcy clarified.

“Nine, six, twelve, twenty-five, whatever. I’ve got some prototypes in the lab, just waiting for a tester. You interested?”

“Hell yeah… But… maybe after the Valar’s stuff. I’m not real keen on test-piloting a new arm in the middle of a war.”

“Hmm… Yeah, maybe.” Stark agreed.

From across the table Aulë spoke.

“What does this testing involve? How long would it take?”

“Uhh… not real sure… a few hours… a couple of days, tops.” Stark replied. “Why?”

“As I explained to the Sargent earlier, time passes quickly, but by our arrival here, my dwarrow have yet to reach Laketown, the closest settlement to Erebor. There may be time enough for this testing to happen.”

“The Captain did ask if they would be given time to retrieve their equipment and weaponry. I assured him that this would be possible.” Thor added.

“Manwë, my brother? Can you bespeak your lady-wife and ask if she will look in on my children? So that we may determine a time estimation. I would have the Sargent armed as best he can be, if he is not pleased with this Russian(?) arm, I would prefer he have time to test those of his compatriot’s making and choose one to his liking.” Aulë spoke to the king of the Valar.

“Indeed, Aulë, I shall. I, too, would have the Sargent with the arm he wishes. Perhaps while Nienna and Lady Eir assist in the removal of these ‘trigger’? We shall know for certain by morning’s arrival.”

“Thank you, brother.” Aulë turned from Manwë back to Barnes and Stark. “You said there were many pro-to-tips? Was it?”

“Pro-to-types.” Stark replied, breaking the word down into phonetics. “Yeah… apparently nine of them.”

“Perhaps the testing time can be lessened by understanding exactly what the Sargent requires or wants in an arm?”

“Hmm… Snowflake? Whatcha thinking? Lasers? Missiles? RPGs?”

“Ahh…” Barnes didn’t know what to say.

“Prince Thor did mention that he was uncertain of your technology working on Arda.” Aulë warned.

“Why?” Stark turned to Thor. “Oi, Point Break. What makes you think my stuff won’t work there?”

“There is no technology, it is a pre-industrial world.”

“Pre-industrial? No radio? No TV? No computers? No internet? Nothing?” Stark was almost alarmed. “And you want to send Snowflake there?”

“Ah, guys? Can we worry about that after Bucky’s free of triggers? Please?” Steve was, as always, the mediator.

“Yeah, you don’t want to get between a super soldier and food. Trust me on this.” Sam Wilson advised.

“Mm-hmm.” Natasha and Clint agreed.

The subject was dropped while plates were filled and emptied.

 

“Back to it, huh?” Stark asked as Barnes rose from his seat.

“I thought we might sit on the balcony for a bit, or take a walk. I’m not real keen on facing this right after eating. Kinda don’t wanna be sick, you know?” Barnes replied.

“Not a bad idea, Snowflake. Ms Jansen, Ms Wolfe, Dr Mancuso? You wanna come and watch while I transfer Snowflake’s memories to the drive the ICC provided? Or better yet? I walk one of you through doing it.”

A quick conference between the doctor and the two women was had.

“If you don’t mind, Mr Stark? I think that the ICC may be more accepting if I was the one to do the transfer.” Dr Mancuso stated.

“Be my guest, Doc.”

“How about we meet back here in one hour?” Steve suggested.

“How about those interested meet back in the healer’s rooms in an hour?” Barnes corrected.

People nodded and wandered off in different directions. Bucky and Steve heading back to the balcony.

“So what do you want an arm to do, Buck?” Steve asked.


	7. Over-Writing

Settling back into the seat in the healer’s room, Bucky Barnes wondered just what Nienna planned for his triggers. He sat quietly, or as quietly as he was able, given that he and Stark seemed to have a banter war going on.

When had he agreed to that?

He didn’t remember agreeing to that.

Watching his memories, earlier, had spooked him a bit and he was more than a little nervous about going back into them. Particularly not knowing how successful Nienna would be.

“Alrighty, Snowflake, you’re ready to go. Let’s get this done, I’m running low on caffeine and nobody wants to see what happens when I reach empty.”

Across the room, Natasha shuddered and shook her head, almost violently.

“Lady Nienna, Lady Eir? He’s all yours.” Stark took three steps and collapsed into a seat beside Steve and leant back crossing his arms and dropping his head on a stunned Steve’s shoulder.

Lady Eir resumed her seat beside Barnes’ legs and lady Nienna sat directly in front of him. Her hands resting softly on the top of his bare feet.

“Are you ready Sargent?” She asked.

“No, but let’s do it anyway.” He replied.

“Think back. Think back to the train.” As Nienna spoke, images from Barnes’ memories appeared on the screen off to one side. “Past the fall.” The image changed. “Past the impact.” Changed again. “Past the capture. Past the first surgery. Pause. Here. Before you wake fully from the surgery. This is the first implanted trigger. Here. What is the word, Sargent?”

“Таблица.” Barnes’ voice was soft, indistinct, it was almost like he was drugged.

“And what is the translation? In the language of your birth.”

“Tavolo.”

“Ah…?” There was confusion from a few people at the unknown word.

“Excuse me, Lady Nienna? Buck grew up speaking Italian before his father insisted the family learn English. You might wanna clarify the language.”

“Thank you Captain. Sargent? What is the word in English?” The delicate healer asked.

“Table.” He breathed.

“And what does that word signify to you? What does it mean to you? What did it mean before HYDRA? ”

“Family dinners. Homework. Drawing. Newspapers.”

“And what do HYDRA want it to mean?”

“Shut down.” He forced the words out.

“As the doctor-”

“Tech.” He corrected.

“As the tech says what they want it to mean, in your mind, you will hear their words, but you will also hear the answers you gave me, about what that word means to you, louder and clearer than theirs. Replay the memory as many times as needed to drown their words out.”

The images jumped and changed, the scene playing again and again. Each time the HYDRA tech’s voice got fainter and blurrier, each time a new word in other voices became clearer, stronger. . Not all of them were in English though, some were in Italian and even a few in French. Eventually the tech’s voice was a mumble and new voices were heard, speaking about family, school, clothes, food, sports.

“Good, Sargent. Rest for a moment.” Nienna gently stroked her long fingers over Barnes’ ankles.

“Is that it?” Natasha asked. “Is that all it takes to remove their controls?” she sat forward on her seat, looking anxious for an answer.

“Yes. It sounds very difficult, but it isn’t. It’s just time consuming.” Nienna replied.

“So… He’s basically dubbing over the recording of what they want the word – or words – to mean, with what the words mean to him?” Darcy asked.

“To the point where he is almost unable to hear them speaking, because of the new words he’s placed over them.” Steve added.

“He’ll still hear the word in Russian? But the meaning will be in English?” Natasha asked.

“Not just English, but the other language, as well. Italian, was it? But… Yes. To all of you. Yes. The words are still there, but the meaning of them is dominated by what Sargent Barnes wants them to mean.”

“Will this work for others?” Clint asked.

“Are there others like the Sargent? That have had their minds controlled, as he has?” Nienna frowned.

“Yes, my lady. Both Clint and I have had similar experiences, not exactly the same, but similar.” Natasha answered.

“Do you know what words or phrases were used as your triggers?” Nienna asked. “And when they were placed? Do you have clear memories?”

“I do.” Said Clint.

“I don’t.” Added Natasha.

“Do you remember the first time the triggers were used?”

“Yes.”

“Then they can be over-spoken. If you wish and if Mr. Stark allows the use of his machine, once the Sargent and I have finished, I would be pleased to assist you in replacing their words with your own.”

Natasha nodded her thanks. Clint looked at the Valar lady for a few seconds, before he stood and bowed deeply to her.

“It would be my pleasure to work with you, my Lady.” He said.

Nienna smiled softly to him and dipped her head and one shoulder in reply, before turning back to Barnes.

“Time for the next word, Sargent. What is it?”

“друг.” He answered.

“And the translation?”

“Friend.”

“What do they want it to mean?”

“Remain still.”

“What did it mean prior to them?”

“Steve. Rachel. Robin. Mama. Dum Dum. Falsworth. Jones. Dernier.”

“Replay the memory, add your own words, drown out what HYDRA are saying. Keep going until they are a bare whisper of sound. Again… Again… Again. Good. Rest a moment.”

 

“Go forward to the next time they seat these triggers in place, Sargent.”

Images appeared and skimmed forward, settling back in real-time as Barnes accessed his memories ready for the next segment.

“What is the next word, Sargent?”

“нежный. Longing.” He added without being prompted.

“What do they want it to mean?”

“Accept.”

“What did it mean prior to them?”

“Friends. Family. Dates. Movies. Dames. Dancing. Army. Howling Commandos.”

“Drown their words out. You know what to do.”

 

“What is the next word, Sargent?”

“ржавый. Rusted.” He breathed.

“To them?”

“Blank, empty.”

“And to you?”

“Metal. Cars. Red. Stained. Dust.”

 

“What is the next word, Sargent?”

“семнадцать. Seventeen.”

“To them?”

“Prepare.”

“To you?”

“Rachel. Birthdays. Years. Address.”

 

“The next word, Sargent?”

“рассвет. Daybreak.”

“To Them?

“Parameters.”

“To you?”

“Dawn. Wake. Morning. Sunrise. PT. Breakfast. Coffee. Falling out of bed.”

There were a few snickers heard.

 

“What is the next word, Sargent?”

“печь. Furnace.

“To them?”

“Training. Learning. Practice.”

“To you.”

“Coal. Heat. Water. Fire.”

 

“What is the next word, Sargent?”

“девять. Nine.”

“To them?”

“Weapons. Guns. Knives.”

“To you?”

“Apartment. Robin. Luke. Dancing.”

 

“Go to the next trigger setting.”

Images danced before settling, again.

“What is the word, Sargent?”

“доброкачественный. Benign.”

“To them?”

“Transport.”

“To you?”

“Good. Not Bad. Friendly.”

 

“The next word, Sargent?”

“возвращение домой. Homecoming.”

“To them?

“Mask. Uniform.”

“To you?”

“Family. Brooklyn. Peace. War’s over. Dance.”

 

“The next word, Sargent?”

“один. One.”

“To them?”

“Mission. Target.”

“To you?”

“Just one dance. Just one drink. Steve’s excuses. No double dates, anymore.”

More snickers were heard.

 

“The next word, Sargent?”

“грузовой автомобиль. Freight-Car.”

“To them?”

“Reporting. After mission treatment.”

“To you?”

“Trains. Travelling. Deployment… Falling.” The last was whispered.

“You know what to do, Sargent.”

 

Barnes opened his eyes, his face wet with tears. He shook his head.

“Natalia.” He didn’t need to say anything more.

“Таблица. друг. нежный. ржавый. семнадцать. рассвет. печь. девять. доброкачественный. возвращение домой. один. грузовой автомобиль.” The redhead spoke clearly and slowly, carefully enunciating each word.

Nothing. Barnes felt no compulsion to react. He began to laugh.

“It worked. It really worked.” He stood and reached out a gentle hand, Nienna laid hers in it, he drew her to her feet and lifted her hand to his lips.

“Thank you, my lady, thank you. For the first time in decades, I am free of them and the Soldier.”

“The Soldier?”

“Every time I covered one of their words with mine, I felt the soldier’s control weaken. It’s still there, but it’s not a separate personality, now. It’s more like a set of rules or knowledge or a state of mind. I can access it, but it no longer can control me. Thank you.” Barnes was not ashamed of the tears on his face, he’d earned them the hard way. He turned to Aulë.

“I will help your people, my lord. If we can meet in the morning and discuss it, I’d appreciate the chance to sleep tonight. My first night free, truly free, in over seventy years.”

He wasn’t the only one with tears on their cheeks.


	8. There's precise and then there's Precise.

Breakfast was a noisy affair, with a number of Asgardians joining the King’s table for the meal. Barnes sat quietly listening to the many conversations floating around the table. Clint, Natasha and Darcy discussed how to go about tracking down people the archer and the assassin had been brainwashed into killing. Steve and Tony were talking, hesitantly, but still it was better than nothing. Scott Lang was happily chatting with Lady Jane and Lady Eir about the intricacies of Asgardian Healing. Sam Wilson was listening to Lady Sif and Thor rambling on about their training grounds. Odin, Aulë, Manwë and the Valar Ladies looked on in amused tolerance, just as Barnes was.

“Sargent?” Manwë rose from his seat and slid into an empty place at Barnes’ side.

“Lord Manwë.” Barnes replied.

“I bespoke my lady-wife, Varda in regards to Aulë’s dwarrow. She in turn spoke with Vairë, the Weaver of Destinies. It is she who tells of death and destruction to the dwarrow without assistance, it was she who directed us to Asgard, saying that we would find the help needed to save Aulë’s children, here. This morning she sends a message through my lady-wife; ‘ _Dwarrow fled Eryn Galen as night faded, the bowman ferrying them to his floating home as the following sunset approached. Four nights they remained in the town of water, but when they left, they left behind the heirs, the healer and the miner. The younger heir is pierced by an arrow of poison, but he shall be healed by the elf of autumn. The others remain for him, he has their loyalty, now, it no longer belongs to the King-in-exile. The arrow that leaves the bowman and his child will be the death of the dragon._

_Dwarrow prepare for war, for three weeks, less a day, they toil to their King’s will. A king that has fallen prey to gold. Elves gather, men seek refuge and a wizard speaks, but the dwarrow King will not hear. Gold has him. From the metal Hills comes the Iron Foot and with him, his legion, his ranks climbing the foothills, he does not know his cousin is ruled by gold._

_Darkness will come in the hours after dawn. They will spread like a stain upon the earth. First from the east, from the holes of the great earth-eaters, then from the north, over the very body of the mountain. Without the Warrior and the Childe, the Line of Durin will fall before the Pale Orc and his spawn._

_The Warrior from the White Wastes will come, he shall listen to only the Childe of Green. Together the Warrior and Childe will lay waste to the darkness. Together the Warrior and the Childe will stand between the heirs and the gold-taken king. Together the Warrior and the Childe will stand between the mountain and those who desire it’s riches. Together the Warrior and the Childe will reclaim those lost to gold. Together the Warrior and the Childe will crown the King Under The Mountain.’_ My lady-wife has taken note of what Vairë has said and when she said it and she informs me that Vairë predicts your arrival to be an hour before dawn in 8 days.”

“8 days? An hour before dawn? That’s very… precise?”

“Vairë provides the details, if we but hear them, Sargent. Will eight days give you enough time? Time to ready your weapons? Time to prepare yourself? Time to test the Man of Iron’s handiwork?”

“I have no idea. The first two, yes. Easily. But the last? I don’t know, but I’m going to try.”

“Good stuff, Snowflake. I got arms with your name on em.” Stark joined the conversation.

“Yeah? Good, this one jammed up again, last night, took bashing it with Thor’s hammer to get it to let go.” Barnes replied.

“Ooh, that’s gotta hurt.” Stark smirked.

“Nah, but I couldn’t convince Thor to give it a good whack, so it’s still sticking a bit.” Barnes grumped. “Will six days be enough? Stark? You reckon we can last that long without Stevie butting in?”

“Dunno, but let’s give it a shot.” Stark answered, grinning wildly.

“Okay then. Are we waiting for anyone or can we just… go?” Barnes asked.

“Nah, just us.”

“Right… well, just let me tell Aulë and Odin. Not polite to walk out on the person hosting us, Stark.”

“Meet you at the bridge platform.” Stark rose to his feet and wandered off.

 

“Well that one’s a bust.” The mechanical genius chirped, dropping a metal arm onto a growing pile of discarded limbs. 

“Yeah… Next?” Barnes grinned.

“No, no, nope. No more.” Stark protested.

“But…?”

“No. No more of my babies… not until we sort this out.” Stark said bluntly.

“Oh alright.” Came the grumbled reply.

“Good… Now, I’m not admitting that the Star Spangled Man With a Plan might be right, but… What **_do_** you want in an arm, Snowflake?”

“Honestly, Stark?”

“Uh… yeah, honestly.”

“I just want an arm that works like an arm.”

“That’s it? That’s all?”

“Yeah.” Barnes heaved himself to his feet and with one hand, his right hand, levered himself up onto Stark’s workbench. 

Five days they'd been working this. Five days and they'd been through all nine of the prototype arms that were in the lab and Stark had begun to make up new designs and reach back into his archives for older designs. So far, everything they'd done had failed, every arm had issues that couldn't be overcome without major redesigns. That and the connectivity was patchy at best. It turned out that Vibranium in addition to being lightweight, strong and shock absorbent was also innert as far as neural conductivity was concerned. That meant that Stark had to reassess the make-up of the alloys used in the arm, to allow sufficient neural interface.

“Right… works like an arm… Okay… Well, let’s rule out pure Vibranium. Blocks the neurological pathways… Hmm… Here try this one. No, no, no, not that one. This one, just try the standard movements.” Stark held out a dull unpolished metal arm and waited while Barnes moved it into position and locked it in place. “60% Vibranium, 35% Silver and 5% Titanium. Highest strength to conductivity ratio, yet. Pretty boring, though, was working on it as a base for amputees, but the cost thing came into play. Hmm… could swap out the Vibranium for aluminum, I suppose. FRIDAY? Make a note.”

“Yes, boss.” The AI replied.

Barnes slid off the workbench and looked at the hanging arm, he waited patiently for the synapses to stabilize before he attempted to move said arm. He was surprised that the arm felt more… natural, more like his right arm. He wiggled the fingers and rotated the wrist, then began to work through a set of actions that Stark had given him, to test each arm.

Swing. Wiggle. Stretch. Hold. Release. Grasp. Twist. Flex. Rotate.

 ** _“Finally!”_** Stark crowed. “Full movement! Yes! Right… now for precision.”

Reaching under the bench, Stark pulled out a box of egg cartons, a box of markers, a box of old filament light bulbs and a desk lamp.

“We know you’ve got plenty of strength, but you’re going to have to refine your control, again. So… Play with that. Change the bulbs, draw on the eggs. Have fun, Snowflake.” Stark slapped the soldier on the flesh shoulder and crossed the room, he immersed himself in the innards of what Barnes thought **_might_** be a computer, ignoring the slightly dumfounded look that followed him.

For the next two hours, Barnes played. He broke dozens of bulbs and smashed dozens of eggs, but eventually he reached the point where he could pick up a light bulb and screw it into the lamp without it cracking or breaking. He then picked up a carton of eggs and quietly left the lab.

He smirked as his metal fingers held the eggs while he drew images on them and left them in conspicuous places in and around Stark’s personal bar. Alcohol was just as important to the billionaire as coffee was. After that he had FRIDAY call Steve to bring him some supplies and settled himself on the roof of Stark’s tower, in fairly much the same place as Selvig had put the Tesseract/Portal device.

“Sargent Barnes? Sir has asked me to inform you that Dr Mancuso has arrived and wished to speak with you.” The feminine voice of Stark’s AI, FRIDAY, informed him some hours later.

“Thank you, FRIDAY, tell him, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Certainly, Sargent. He also says the eggs are good, but couldn’t you have emptied them first? And Dr Mancuso would like me to add that he is here in an official capacity.”

“Uh… Did he say anything else, FRIDAY?”

FRIDAY may not have JARVIS’ years of experience to rely on, but she did understand, to a degree, human body language. Although the Sargent and the Black Widow were difficult to read at times, she was getting better and in this instance she judged that the Sargent would be reassured by her next comment.

“No, Sargent. But he was smiling.”


	9. Freedom

Sighing in relief at FRIDAY’s statement, Barnes stood and headed for the door back into the tower. He made his way down two flights of stair and stood for a minute, his metal fingers resting on the door handle out of the stairwell.

“Sargent?” FRIDAY asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No, FRIDAY, just gearing myself up.”

“May I ask why, Sargent?”

“It’s just… if Mancuso is here officially… that means… the ICC…”

“…have made a decision… Oh, of course. Take as long as you need, Sargent… I can tell Boss that you’re in the bathroom, perhaps?” The AI offered.

“No, but thank you for the offer, FRIDAY. I need to know…” Barnes took a deep breath and opened the door.

Opening the door brought him to the attention of the five people seated in the room.

“Sargent Barnes.” Dr Mancuso stood and offered a hand.

“Doctor.” The soldier replied, shaking the man's hand very gently, mindful that he was still unused to this particular arm and hand.

“Sargent? May I introduce Judge Louisa Morralis Tarrant of the ICC? Judge Tarrant presided over your case and requested to meet you in person to notify you of the outcome.” Mancuso said.

Barnes turned to the woman in question and offered his, new, slightly grubby, hand. He was nonetheless quite surprised when judge Tarrant didn’t hesitate to extend hers in reply.

“Judge Tarrant.” What else could he say? “Thank you for coming.” That was acceptable, right?

“Sargent Barnes, a pleasure. I was most surprised when Dr Mancuso brought a recording to court, but after viewing the footage? I took the matter directly to the ICC President, Judge Fernandez de Gurmendi and like myself, she was alarmed at the implications. A hearing was expedited and your case was heard. Because of the number of victims involved and your identity prior to your fall, Madame President insisted on all 18 judges attending." She paused and took a deep breath before continuing in a more formal manner. "I am delighted to say that it was an unanimous decision. All 18 judges have handed a verdict of not-guilty and have stated that any and all acts carried out by you between February 9th, 1945 and August 22nd, 2014, were in fact the responsibility of the terrorist organisation known as HYDRA. Moreover we, the ICC, have determined that Sargent James Buchanan Barnes, Serial Number 32557038, became a Prisoner of War twice, during Word War II. First on October 2nd 1943, and was subsequently rescued by Captain Rogers on November 4th, 1943. And was again captured, on February 9th, 1945 and that while you were physically removed from captivity on August 22nd, 2014 you did not regain complete control of your mental faculties until September 13th, 2017. Sargent? May I be the first to welcome you back to the world of freedom?”

Barnes legs began to buckle under him, the relief was so great. Stark and Mancuso leapt forward and grabbed at the newly freed man. Holding his arms they gently lowered him to a seat and let him collapse.

“Judge Tarrant? Thank you. I’m not sure you understand just how much this means. To Barnes. To Rogers… To me.” Stark informed the Judge.

“No, quite probably I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I don't care to try and understand, Mr Stark.”

“This means, quite bluntly, that Barnes may be staying on Earth.”

“On Earth?”

“Yes, ma’am." Steve informed the ICC members of the Asgardian plea for help. "Last week, Thor of Asgard came to me. Allies of his were requesting assistance and King Odin suggested Bucky and I. Bucky was in cryo-freeze… he wasn’t prepared to risk people’s lives when he couldn’t control his own mind. Thor brought the matter to me and I made the call to thaw Bucky out and after discussing it with him, Bucky and I accompanied Thor back to Asgard. Once there, one of their allies determined that she could help Bucky regain control of his mind, but we knew that the ICC would insist on it being documented. At that point King Odin stood and told Bucky that if the ICC wouldn’t clear him, that Bucky could claim Asgard as his home. That Asgard would see him free.” 

“Oh, my.” The judge gasped.

“But now, Bucky’s got a choice, he doesn’t have to go, if he doesn’t want to.” Steve added.

“What of the reason that the Asgard called you? Has that been resolved?” Mancuso asked.

“No, not yet. We’re due to head back there tomorrow night. Then we’ll have two days there to finalise-” Steve started but didn't get the chance to finish.

An alarm began to sound. A consistent klaxon.

“FRIDAY?” Stark snapped.

“Apologies, boss. NYPD and Coulson have a situation. It appears Dr Doom has set yet another army of Doombots loose downtown. Police are endeavouring to get civilians out but have requested Iron Man and any Avengers as offensive support.”

“Cap? The shield? It's in your room. Snowflake? The armoury is one floor down, Nat left a lot of toys behind. Wanna play?”

Steve and Barnes shared a speaking look and headed for the door, without answering.

“You got a spare suit in my old quarters, FRIDAY?” Steve asked, as he and Barnes headed out the door.

“Everything is exactly as you left it, Captain.” The AI replied.

“Ta. Bucky? Meet you on the roof in 5?”

“Yep.” Bucky reached out his new metal arm and latched onto the stair railing and flipped himself out into the stairwell and down to the landing below. “This armoury, FRIDAY? What’s the chances of clothes for me? Just tactical stuff.”

“Very good, Sargent. When Boss brought you back here, he had me order in a complete tactical wardrobe for you. Very much the same as what you would have worn as the Winter Soldier, but revamped. The fabric is Kevlar-polymer bi-weave, as are the harnesses. There’s also a number of bladed weapons and a large selection of guns, both long and shorter range.” As she spoke FRIDAY was opening doors and directing Barnes via lighting panels. “There are two variants of tactical clothing, one with a left sleeve and one without. Both are black, with red and sliver trim, not that you are likely to be concerned with appearances, but the Boss is a show-pony.”

Barnes laughed as he pulled fabric off a hanger, yanking his shirt over his head he began to suit up. Within three minutes, he was ready to go. Guns at his hips and on his thighs, spare magazines jammed into pockets and a few knives. Just in case. His eyes caught on a box that Friday lit up.

“For me?” he asked, slightly awed.

“Boss made one for Black Widow, but she found it too bulky, I refitted it for you and believe that you will find it very useful. Strap it to your right arm, Sargent, when it comes in contact with an opponent it will automatically respond and stun them.”

Barnes laid the flat, multi-panelled vambrace-tazer on his arm and tightened the straps as he left the room.

 


	10. Whoops

Chest heaving as he caught his breath, Steve watched as Clint and Natasha finished off the last of Dr Doom’s nasty little Doombots. The pair effectively unscrewed the damn thing’s head off of it’s shoulders before removing all four limbs.

“Cap?!” Stark’s voice came over the coms. “Got something over here you’ll wanna see.”

“Where are you?” Steve replied.

“Park and 34th. Snowflake’s making mincemeat out of Doom. It’s glorious.” Was the answer.

“It is kinda.” Wilson agreed.

“Oh, crap, Bucky.” Steve groaned, but caught the attention of Natasha and at the redhead’s nod, mounted the motorcycle she preferred. It took him bare seconds to travel the one block north and two west from 3rd Ave.

The sight that met his eyes was almost entertaining. Bucky was standing toe-to-toe with Victor Von Doom, trading punch for punch, without difficulty. Sparing a second to look around, he saw a number of civilians and cops, all of them standing and gaping at the sight of what the public thought were two of the Avengers greatest individual enemies.

“Ah, Cap? There’s a few cops over there looking like they might try and step in. You wanna call the your boy off?” Wilson asked.

“Nah, but… I’ll deal with it.” Steve smirked.

“Oh shit, he’s got that look going. Stark! Cap’s gonna do something stupid!” Wilson yelled, heading for the cops.

“What!?” Stark responded, alarmed.

When Steve’s voice rang out, everyone froze… including the two fighters.

“Sargent Barnes! If you’re going to arrest Doom, just do it. Quit playing with him. We haven’t got time for this. That arm’s only a prototype, it’s not field tested for an exercise of this level.”

“This is the field test, Cap. Tech support put a data recorder in my pocket.” Barnes’ face was full of amusement, he knew exactly what Steve was aiming for.

“I don’t care. It’s not approved yet. Quit playing around.” Steve used his ‘I’m disappointed in you’ voice.

Theirs were still the only voices, or even sounds, to be heard, above that of the laboured breathing of Doom.

“Aww… you take all the fun out it.” With that Barnes twisted his flesh arm around and brought it in contact with Doom’s face and watched as the lovely toy that FRIDAY gave him, arced with blue lightening and wrapped it around the other man/idiot. When the man slumped and Barnes’ saw he was unconscious, he opened his fingers and let the man collapse across the curb, his head resting at a painful angle against a trashcan.

“Thank you. Now, I repeat, **_Sargent_** , that arm’s not approved, yet. Get over here, you’ll stay on my six while I speak to NYPD. Got that, Sargent?” While Steve’s voice said one thing, if you knew how to read him, his eyes told a very different story. He was finding the whole situation very amusing.

Barnes turned to the nearest police and nodded.

“All yours, officers.” And jogged over to stand just behind Steve’s left shoulder.

There were obvious people around who were either history buffs or Cap fans, because it only took a few more seconds before Barnes heard someone say ‘Howling Commando’s’ and then heard his name, mentioned. In full. Gods, he hated his full name. Being called by the name his abusive father gave him was not the way to garner his good will.

After the old man died in a bar-fight, Barnes’ youngest sister, Rebecca, gave him the nickname ‘Bucky’ and that suited him just fine. If it hadn’t of been for their mother, Anna-Maria Barnes, he would have changed his name the day he turned 21, but Anna-Maria was a good Italian woman and believed that a father should name his children. Even if he _**was**_ a bad father.

Barnes listened patiently and quietly while Steve, in his Cap-persona, dealt with the police and commented on the clean up requirements. From the corner of his eye he saw the general public begin to settle, the normality of police procedures and the calmness of the officers, taking the fear from people’s faces. Soon the crowds began to fade, people resuming their daily lives, entering buildings, making their way to the Mall or the subway.

A movement caught his attention. A child. A child, a boy of about 10 was walking in his direction, an older man following at a distance.

“Punk.” He warned, almost silently. Certainly not loud enough for the police gathered in front of them to hear.

Steve turned fractionally and he, too, saw the child. He heaved a sigh, this was the part of being Captain America, that he wasn’t a fan of. The public attention.

But it wasn’t Steve the child approached. The young boy hesitated as Barnes and Steve turned to face him, but kept coming. He stopped about 4 feet from the two super soldiers, the older man behind him, stopping about 10 feet behind the boy.

“Are you really Bucky?” Was what the boy said, looking at Barnes.

Bucky looked at the boy, studying his face, looking for clues.

“I am.”

The boy turned and pointed at the man behind him.

“That’s my grandad.”

“Right…?” Bucky drew the word out. Why would the kid tell him that?

“His name is Steven Proctor.”

“Right…?”

The boy sighed, like Barnes had missed something important.

“His mama is Becky.”

“Ah…?” Barnes still didn’t get it.

“Mama always said he was ‘as t’ick as two bricks’ and you would ‘miss what was ‘anging off ya own nose, Bucky-boy’. Boy, was she right.” The boy’s grandfather said.

“Yeah, Pops.” The boy answered.

Bucky, meanwhile was frozen in shock. It took him a minute to process what the pair had said. One thing stood out in his mind.

“Proctor? Matthew Proctor? Becks took up with the **_Proctor_** boy?” He grimaced.

Steven Proctor laughed.

“Yep. Grandma said you’d skin her if you knew. Mama laughed and said if you didn’t like it, you could get your ass home and do something about it, yourself.”

“She’s not happy with you.” The boy added. “You made a promise to come home and you didn’t.”

Bucky grinned.

“Uh uh, I haven’t… **_yet_**. I didn’t say how long it would take. You tell her from me. ‘I didn’t say when, Becksy-brat’.” Bucky crouched down beside the boy.

“She won’t like it.” The boy said in a sing-song voice.

“Hmm… what about… How about you give me her address or phone number and I’ll tell her myself?”

“Okay.” The boy pulled out a notebook and pencil and began to scribble. “But she still won’t like it.” He tore a page out and gave it to Barnes, who took a deep breath before reading the address on the piece of paper. Washtingon Ave, still in Brooklyn.

“Sargent? You’re done here. Why don’t you head back to the tower and get cleaned up, get that arm checked? Then go see Rebecca.” Steve cut in.

“Better rethink that, Rogers. She’s madder with **_you_** than she will be with him. **_You’ve_** been around for a few years and you haven’t been by for your lessons. We hear it every Sunday, when you don’t show up.” Proctor grinned.

Steve winced.

“Ah… right.”

“Today’s Saturday, punk. You still got time.”

“Yeah…” Steve put a hand up to his ear. “Stark? You hear all that?”

“Yep.”

“You got the clean-up?” Steve asked.

“Nope… But Clint and Natasha do. I need to check and clean that arm.” Stark replied.

“Right. Forgot. Thanks, Stark… Thanks Nat, Clint.”

“[Cпасибо](Spasibo), Natalia, Hawk.” Barnes added.

“Yeah, no worries, man. Go deal with the family. We got this.” Clint’s voice came from above them.

 


	11. Namesakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wanting to know, struffoli are a type of fried fritter, somewhat similiar to donut holes, served drenched in syrup and decorated with sprinkles (according to google).

Climbing off the back of Steve’s bike, Barnes looked up at the creamy bricks of the row-house.

“I wonder if they told her we were coming?” Steve pondered out loud.

“There’s no screaming.” Barnes commented.

“Yeah. They couldn’t have.”

“I hope she made struffoli, I haven’t had decent struffoli since '44.” Barnes muttered, climbing the front steps. “Here goes nothing.” He added, reaching out to press the doorbell.

Before he could, the boy they’d met earlier opened the door.

“Quiet. Pops is keeping Gammy busy in the basement and Mama knows you’re coming. You gotta go up the stairs real quiet. Avoid the sixth step it’ll trick you up, it creaks.” The boy gestured to the stairs.

The two super soldiers bent down and quickly, and quietly, removed their boots before hurrying inside and up the stairs to the second floor, skipping the sixth step, the boy at their heels. As they reached the landing the boy darted around them and lead them the rest of the way up to the third floor. They found themselves on a larger landing set up as a lounge/living room, with a study area beside a door to what was obviously the boy’s room.

“Hey, kid? What’s **_your_** name? I got your Pops’ but not yours.” Barnes asked.

The boy smirked.

“I’m Buchanan. Everyone calls me Buck.”

Steve and Barnes’ eyes widened and suddenly all three males had their hands over their mouths trying to muffle their laughter.

“Oh God, you poor kid. Why the hell would Becks let **_anyone_** name a kid that?” Barnes groaned.

“She didn’t.” The boy, Buck, grinned. “We lived in London when I was born and as Gammy was off on a cruise, so she didn’t find out about it until I was nearly a week old.”

“Oh boy. I bet she weren’t happy about that.” Steve said.

“Nope. Gammy wanted to talk to Mama, to see if she could get Mama to change her mind, but onna count of my dad naming me and then dying? Pops wouldn’t let her.”

“Your dad died?” Barnes flopped down on a sofa, Steve doing the same in an armchair, while Buck perched on a… Oh Gods above… his namesake was sitting on the chest he’d made at trade school in the weeks before he’d joined the Army.

“Yeah. There was an accident. Mama and dad were on their way to the hospital, to have me, but it was storming real bad and when lightening struck, it knocked a tree down. It hit their car and pinned dad. Mama wasn’t hurt, but she couldn’t get out of the car. This all happened right outside the hospital, so it only took a few minutes to get Mama out. But dad was stuck there for almost an hour, he was hurt real bad. Pops and Granny were there and they said that dad hung on until I was put in his arms. He kissed me and fell asleep and never woke up.”

Barnes reached out and grabbed the boy dragging him into his arms.

“It’s okay.” Buck told him. “I don’t remember it. Mama gets sad sometimes, but I’m okay about it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be ‘okay about it’.” Barnes muttered.

“I know. But as Pops says, ‘it is what it is’, ya know?”

Noises and voices began to be heard from down stairs.

“It won’t be long now and Mama will be calling for me to come down.” Buck warned the two men.

“Hmm…” Steve hummed, a mischievous look on his face.

“No.” Barnes cut him off.

“But-”

“No.” Barnes said again.

“What?” Buck looked between Steve and Barnes.

“He’s got that look. That ‘I’m planning something you won’t like’, look.” Barnes warned Buck.

“What? What? Whatcha thinking?” Buck leaned out of Barnes’ arms and looked at Steve, his face alight with curiosity and mischief.

“Oh no. There’s two of them.” Barnes groaned.

Buck slapped him on the chest without once taking his eyes off of Steve.

“I’m thinking… you go down now… ask if your friend Steve, can stay for lunch. Now Becks was always trying to feed kids, she won’t say no. When she say ‘yes’, you call me and I’ll head down stairs. But when she goes to yell at-”

“Gammy? Yell? Don’t happen.”

“Yeah it does. Just? When it does? Cover your ears, Buck, she swears like a sailor.” Barnes advised, Buck just giggled.

“So… when she goes to yell at me… I’ll say that I’ve brought her a present. And Bucky… ah… James that is… you come down, then.”

“It’s cool. I get the difference between ‘Buck’ and ‘Bucky’. It’s like ‘James’ and ‘Jamie’. All three of us were named after you.” Buck poked Barnes on the nose, making the man go cross-eyed as he tried to watch the kid’s finger.

Steve was chuckling quietly at the look of almost horror on Barnes’ face.

“Don’t you laugh, Unca Steve.” Steve’s humour stopped in favour of shock. “Pops is named after you and so are two of my cousins. Stephanie and Grant. Or as we call em, Steffi and Gant.” After looking at the amazement on both men’s faces, he added. “And we’ve always called both of you uncle, so get used to it.”

“Oh God.” Steve moaned.

“They didn’t.” Barnes groaned.

“Yep, they did.” Buck just grinned, settling back in Barnes’ arms.

 

“BUCK!” A woman’s voice yelled.

“Lunch!” A second woman called.

Buck wriggled free of Barnes’ arms and thumped his way down the stairs.

“Gammy!” The two men on the third floor suddenly blessed their super soldier hearing, as they could hear young Buck speaking. “Can my friend Steve stay for lunch? He’s nice, Gammy and his mother is dead. Please? Please can he stay?”

“Oh, he’s good.” Barnes muttered.

“Almost as good as you.” Steve countered.

“Oh, Buck, of course he can.” A woman said.

As Buck ran back up the stairs they heard the other, older, woman speak.

“I didn’t think he had many friends, you’ve only been here for a week, Sarah.”

Sarah?

“Oh, Gammy. A week can be a long time for a 10 year old.” The first woman, Sarah(?) said.

Buck’s head emerged from the stairs.

“You want some lunch, **_Steve_**?” He grinned.

Steve shook his head, but he climbed to his feet and with his boots dangling from his fist, followed young Buck down the stairs.

It took less than thirty seconds before the screaming started.

 ** _“_** Steven Grant ** _bloody Rogers!_** Where the **_hell_** have you been? Why in heaven’s name haven’t you been here? We are your family, Steven! **_Family!_** Bucky would expect you to come here!” Becks’ voice almost lifted the rafters.

“Well now, Becks. Gimme a break. It’s been a busy couple of years. It took me a while to get my bearings, but here I am. It _**is**_ Saturday, Becks.” Steve tried to smirk but it came off as more of a grimace.

“It’s about bloody time, Steven. Six years, Steven. Six years. That’s over three hundred Saturdays, three **_hundred!”_** Rebecca Barnes Proctor waved a wooden spoon under his nose. “Gimme one damn reason I shouldn’t use this on you, Steven.”

“Aw Becks, I brought you a present.” He said hopefully.

Meanwhile Barnes had smothered his snickers and crept down the stair until he was standing in the kitchen, knowing that with Becks’ attention on Steve she likely wouldn’t notice him. He moved on silent feet until he stood in front of the stove, quietly using a ladle to add more stock to a risotto, bubbling away gently on the stove. Stirring as the liquid trickled form the ladle, he spoke.

“Rebecca Teresa. You left the risotto.”

The room fell silent.

“You know better than to leave the risotto. Mama would be tanning your hide.”

Rebecca Teresa Proctor, nee Barnes, just looked at her brother. Then her eyes narrowed.

“What did you just say?” Her voice was quiet and just slightly cold.

“You left the risotto, Becks, you never leave a risotto.”

“I’ll give you risotto, James Barnes. What in the name of all that’s holy is going on? You’re dead, Bucky.” The last was whispered.

“Ah… no.” Barnes pointed at Steve. “He might have volunteered to be experimented on. I didn’t. But the Nazi’s and HYDRA did it anyway.”

“What? They did **_what?!”_** She snarled.

“You make me struffoli and I’ll tell you the whole story. From me leaving here right through to today.”

“Struffoli. You want me to make  ** _struffoli?”_**

“I haven’t had decent struffoli since 1944. Please, Becks?” Barnes pleaded.

“You'd bether start talking if you want me to make _**struffoli**_ , James Barnes.” Becks continued to mutter darkly as she pulled flour from a cupboard.

“Thanks, Becks. Okay… so I was meeting up with Steve at-” he began.


	12. When a Plan begins

Looking back over his shoulder, Barnes kept a light hold on Steve as he watched his family’s home fade into the distance. He sighed. Life just got even more complicated. He had this… mission? Was it a mission? Or a favour? Or a job?

Anyway… he had this **_thing_** for Aulë, to do, then there was the testing of Stark’s other arm prototypes, Coulson and shield wanted to debrief him. Steve, Stark, Natalia and Clint want him to join the Avengers. And now, add his family into the mix.

What in hell was he supposed to do?

Ah, well. He could think about that later. Right now? He needed to concentrate on getting Stark to fine tune this arm and then it was picking out weapons to take on Aulë’s… exercise? Yes, he’d call it an exercise, that would work.

 

Leaving Steve to see to the bike, Barnes headed straight for Stark’s lab, hoping the mad billionaire was there.

“Snowflake!” The man’s voice came from inside a machine with a retractable hood. “Gimme a minute. The printer’s jammed and I want to finish printing the last components for your final arm. Catch a seat.”

Barnes sat and waited. It took nearly 10 minutes before Stark emerged from the machine.

“Right, let’s just get this printing again… and there we go.” He looked around the lab. “Where the Cap?” He asked.

“Had to drop the bike off, do a refuel and sign it back in. Then he was heading to the armoury. He said, he’d talk do an ordinance check and fill out a resupply for FRIDAY. I’ll do mine in the morning, I’m more concerned about getting a working arm.”

“Yeah, I bet you are.” Stark smirked. “Anything to get rid of that crap HYDRA had you using.” Stark leaned over and pulled a blob of light towards them, he dug his fingers into the light and flicked them out, spreading the light out into a flat image which he then tapped and it converted into a 3 dimensional image. Letting his fingers touch it gently, he manipulated it as he continued to talk.

“Right, so, using the base model that you trialled downtown, I’d gone and printed a the metal version will be cut and moulded overnight. This one is specifically generated to fit your new shoulder panel. I’ve going with the same ratio of Vibranium to Silver to Titanium as the prototype model you’re wearing, but I’ve added two extras. One is a tracking beacon. It’ll remain dormant, unless you loose consciousness or you set off the second device. The second is a EMP. It might be useless where you’re going for the Asgard, but if the remnants of HYDRA try to pick you up, again? First set off the EMP, it won’t effect your arm as it’s primary source of electrical input is non-generated. It’ll take down any generated, electrically powered item within a hundred yards. Oh, and the beacon’s also non-generated and will use the entire arm as an antenna, so it can reach one of the Stark satellites from anywhere on Earth. If you’re not on Earth? I’ve got a hand-held tracker, it’s got a thousand mile range. Approximately. Now I’m about to crash… so off you go. You can have your shiny new arm in the morning and then it’s off to Asgard for you, young man.” Stark grinned, slightly maniacally.

Barnes nodded and quickly retreated before the man decided he needed to work through the night.

 

Walking into Odin’s War Room, Barnes was pleased to see that the map that Odin and Aulë created was still in place, he studied the topography of the area displayed. A notepad at his elbow slowly filled as he sought out strategic points, for ambush, for snipers, for defence and access.

“Sargent Barnes. Good evening.” Odin’s voice brought Barnes out of his focused state.

“My Lord.” Barnes gave the King of Asgard a short bow.

“No, Sargent. There is no cause for you to bow. Watching your memories… you are a warrior such as Asgard will be proud of. And your desire to assist those in need… you are a man of worth, a man any family would be proud of.” He was told.

“In that case, my Lord, I would be pleased if you would call me Bucky… or if you prefer, Barnes.”

“Thank you… Barnes. How can I assist you? Information? Ideas? Strategies? Weapons?” Odin replied with a faint smile.

“All I need really is information. The rest? The rest will come as it comes.”

“Very well. Aulë? Come, tell us of your dwarrow and of the place they wish to regain.” Odin called to Aulë, who sat quietly with the ladies Nienna, Yavanna and Sif.

Aulë stood and joined them at the table and for the next few minutes gave them the equivalent of a guided tour of the Mountain Kingdom known as Erebor.

“And which way did you say the elves were coming from?” Barnes asked.

“They come with Men from the ruins of Dale. Here. They will gather here, near the walls of the city.” A gentle wave and the area zoomed in, showing in much greater detail, the city of Dale as it lay in ruins.

“Right. Can we back out a bit. Whoa, too far. There! Stop there. That gives us part of the Mountain and the valley in front of the main gates… These **_are_** the main gates, right?” It suddenly occurred to Barnes that maybe they weren’t.

“Yes, Sargent, they are.” Aulë smiled.

“Barnes, call me Barnes. Please.”

“Certainly, Barnes.”

“Good. What about the… Orcs, was it?”

“Yes, Orcs. Bred from tormented and tortured elves, eons ago.”

“Urgh… Where do they attack from?” Barnes asked.

“The first army, lead by Azog, will emerge here, here and here. At least according to Vairë.” Aulë replied, running his finger along the base of the mountain’s arm that pointed to the south-east.

“And the second? Here. They will swarm from here.” The Valar’s finger showed a path from the south-west, over southern-most arm. “They will have a signal tower here.” A finger tapped a ridge topped with the remains of a watch-tower. “And Vairë states that if the two princes enter the tunnels under the watch-tower, they will die on it’s steps.”

“Let’s see that doesn’t happen, huh?” Barnes muttered as his mind worked on the finer details of a plan.

“Sargent?” Manwë approached. “Where is your brother, the Captain? Will he not be joining you?”

“Huh? Oh, the punk’s got issues back on Earth, some middle-eastern wanna-be terrorist group overstepped their boundaries and kidnapped a bunch of disabled kids. Steve and the others decided to go teach 'em a lesson.” Barnes replied absently.

“And will he be joining you on Arda?” Manwë repeated the question.

“When he can, yeah. But I won’t be banking on him getting there before the fighting’s done.”

“Why not? Will he not seek to join you as soon as he can?”

“Oh, yeah, he will. But if I plan on that, then if he’s held up, my plans are blown, yeah? But the punk knows me well enough that he can predict what I’ll do at just about any point and I'll be leaving notes for him, detailing my battle plan. He'll fit in whenever he arrives. It won’t really change my plan, just give me more room to move. No one gets in the way of that shield once they’ve seen it in action.”

“So… You’ve a plan in mind?” Aulë asked.

“Yeah. But before I get into that… Tell me about this ‘childe of green’ that Vairë mentions. Who’s that?”


	13. Suiting up

“Okay…” Barnes sighed after listening to Aulë’s history of the hobbit known as Bilbo Baggins. “How did the dwarrow get him to join them? I mean… he’s a homebody, quiet, shy, retiring. He thinks before he acts. So… how?”

“Ah, but he’s also a Took.” Manwë warned.

“A Took? Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Barnes grumbled under his breath.

“Took’s? How to describe a Took? Rash? Brave? Foolhardy? Adventurous? Reckless? Loyal? Took’s are all of these and more. Took’s make snap decisions. They befriend people in an instant. They will open their hearts in minutes. They will lay down their lives for their loved ones without a hesitation. They do things because it is the right thing to do, regardless of what it will cost them.”

“Basically they’re really small Steve’s, then?” Barnes groaned.

“If that is what your brother is? Then, yes, that’s what they are.” Aulë grinned at the disgruntled look on the other man's face.

“You said… Baggins was the Shire’s(?) conkers champion for three years running? What other weapons can he use?” Barnes

“He uses no weapons at all.” Aulë corrected.

“Ah yeah… I take it, you’ve never watched a game of conkers go wild? Broken fingers, cracked knuckles are a part of every game, but one gone wild? I once watched a skinny little kid smash a guys nose, knock two others out and bust a fourth’s jaw with a conker, after they accused him of cheating.”

“It sounds brutal.” Aulë grinned. “Mayhap, you and the childe can teach my dwarrow?”

“Nah, not me. I was never much chop at it. The punk’s the one you want for that.”

“The punk?”

“Steve. I’ve called him ‘punk’ since I first met him. He was getting beaten up by two thugs. He had the gall to tell me, he ‘had em on the ropes’. Idiot.” Barnes smiled softly in reminiscence.

“Will the childe’s skill be beneficial to you plan?” Aulë questioned.

“Maybe… how long after you drop me, will the Orcs attack?”

“There will be four hours between your arrival and the Orcs attack.”

“Four hours? I can work with that.”

“But in that time your must meet with and convince the elf-king and the wizard that presence is warranted.”

“I don’t give a damn about them. Your Vairë said that I would only listen to the childe. So the rest can go jump, for all I care. Baggins and I will work together.”

“But Thranduil and Mithrandir may try and stop you.” Manwë cautioned.

“Yeah, that ain’t happening.”

“And how would you stop them? They are many and you are but one.”

“With this, if need be.” Barnes held up a hand, in it a piece of metal.

“What is it?” Odin asked.

“This, my lord, is a CZ 75, a projectile weapon. Normally the magazine carries a maximum of 16 rounds, but Stark’s made some alterations and now I have these enlarged, double ended mags. Each one holds a total of 50 rounds. One round hitting a person in the right place – and I haven’t missed a shot since the end of my first training session with it and seeing that it was introduced in 1975? That’s 42 years of perfect shots, by the way – a headshot will kill, instantly. I think that would stop them from arresting me, yeah?” Barnes smirked at the look on Odin’s face.

“Will we get a chance to see it in action, Sargent?” Aulë studied the weapon as much as he could while Barnes held it.

“Not until after I get back, please. I only have so many rounds for it and the other weapons. If I can’t carry it, I can’t take it. Simple, huh? But that means everything. Weapons, ammunition, grenades, explosives, blades, clothing, food, etc.” Barnes warned them.

“How many weapons are you taking, Sargent?” Manwë asked.

“Ah… All up? For me? Eight guns. Six CZ75’s, one Skorpion and one Dragunov. No, they don’t all use the same ammunition. The CZ75’s use 9mm, the Skorpion uses 19mm and the Dragunov uses 7.62mm rifle cartridges. Rifles and pistols grade their ammunition differently.”

“That’s it?” Odin was quite surprised, he’d thought the warrior would have many more weapons than just those few.

“No, that’s just _**my**_  guns. I’m taking a slew of bladed weapons and of course, my lovely new vambrace-tazer. Stark or FRIDAY, not sure which, altered it so it charges itself via my movements, via a solar charger or via USB plug-in. Plus for the hobbit, I'm taking a pair of CZ 2075's. Much smaller, better suited to hands his size. And a tripod for the Dragunov.”

Sif stood and joined the four men.

“My Lord?” She bowed to Odin. “The hour grows late and the Sargent still has much to do, he stated a need to write letters for his brother, the Captain, so that the Captain may know his battle plans. His weapons must be prepared. His equipment packed. Food must readied. His clothing must be laid out. And somewhere in all of this he must eat, bath and rest. If he is to ride the Bifrost to Arda on the morrow, this session must end, my Lord.”

“She’s right. I’ve still got at least another three or four hours of prep, before I can sleep. And, yeah, I’m hungry.” Barnes sighed as his stomach rumbled.

“Very well. We shall leave you in Lady Sif’s capable hands.” Odin nodded to Sif. “We shall see in the morn, I would have you join me to break our fast. I will send a guard to wake you two hours before the dawn.”

Barnes smiled at the king.

“Thank you, my Lord, that’ll be fine.” With that Barnes and Sif both bowed, to Odin, Manwë and Aulë and left the room.

“Your equipment has been taken to a room. This way, if you please, Sargent.” Sif gestured as she spoke.

 

 

Dawn’s light was just beginning to outline the horizon as Barnes began sheathing his weapons and blades. Odin, Manwë and Aulë watched as blade after blade, was picked up and sheathed on the warrior’s person. Two in each boot, one on the inside of the ankle and one on the outside. A series of throwing knives went into harnesses on each shin, three on each leg. Two long daggers went into sheaths between the throwing knives and his legs. On his left thigh there were two of the guns, both CZ75’s and on the right thigh there was a viscous looking Ulak clipped, hilt down. The second Ulak was clipped to his right upper arm, hit up. On the right forearm he wore a black vambrace that glowed with silver panels down the upper and outer edges. He wore nothing on the left arm, it’s metal a highly polished, gleaming silvery colour.

On his back, strapped to his shoulder was a the gun he called a skorpion and emerging from the harness itself were the hilts of two fighting daggers. Another two knives sat snugly in the small of his back, one slightly pointing to the left and the other to the right the tips of both blades angled up towards his ribs. On the belt that sat below his waist there were a multitude of small throwing blades, almost triangular in shape.

At his feet lay a pair of duffle-type bags,  Odin had watched as Barnes checked the food and clothes one held, but the other’s lumpy shape hid it’s contents from prying eyes. Beside it, a hard black carry case with silver clasps, Odin watched as Barnes knelt and secured the larger gun, the Dragunov, in it, closing the lid and snapping the clasps shut. The man stood and looked at Odin, he gave a short bow and slung a strap for the carrycase over his shoulder before his hands closed around the straps of the two bags.

Other than the small glimpses of bright silver of his various daggers and the shiny reflective surface of his arm, Barnes was a man of darkness, unrelieved black clothing covered by black harnesses and black weapons. Even his face was black, or part of it anyway, the area around his eyes and up above his eyebrows was painted matte black. With his, almost, black hair, Barnes looked like a shadow, taking form of a man.

Odin understood now.

Dressed like this it was clear that Barnes was not just a warrior, but an extremely lethal one. Odin understood how this man could be seen as a world’s most feared assassin. He practically oozed menace.

To see the delicate and fragile Nienna step to Barnes was slightly alarming for Odin, while he knew that the warrior would not harm the lady, the menace and danger emanating from the man, made the king doubt for a moment.

“Sargent? I have spoken with Vairë, she and Tulkas have sent along a gift for you. Something to show that the Valar have marked you as our champion on Arda.” Nienna lifted her small hands to show a seven point star, each point woven of two strands, one silver, one gold. “This is our symbol, the symbol of the Valar. There are those on Arda will likely have forgotten it, the elves, the dwarrow, the Men. The wizards will know it… hobbits may, much has been lost to them in the echoes of time. I do not know for certain. Those that _**do**_ recognise it for what it is…? They will know that you are our champion.”

“No pressure, then?” Barnes muttered.

“No, Sargent, no pressure at all. Merely do what you see as right. The rest will follow.”

Nienna’s hand rose and she pressed the star into the metal clasp of his harness, as it sat in the middle of his chest. Heat burst from it and when Nienna’s hand lifted, Barnes could see the star firmly embedded in the metal clasp.

“When you are ready to return to Asgard, placed you hand on it and call for Heimdall and he shall be able to see you.”

“Thank you, my Lady.”

Barnes bowed slightly to Odin, Manwë and Aulë before turning and give a deeper bow to Nienna, Yavanna and Sif.

“Fare thee well, warrior of Midgard and Asgard. May your victory be swift and your return safe.” Odin responded formally.

Barnes stepped out onto the Bifrost’s rainbow bridge and looked towards Arda and Erebor.


	14. Elves and Wizards

Barnes’ knees buckled under him as the Bifrost hit the ash-laden ground outside Dale, but through sheer strength of will, he remained upright. Taking a look around he saw many people. Men in their dark coarse clothing, elves with their armour bright and shining. But no dwarrow or hobbits. Where was the hobbit, again? How was he supposed to locate Baggins?

Oh, right… the wizard and the elf-king.

He turned to a seemingly young elf.

“Where is your king? Take me to him and the wizard.” When the elf just looked at him, he snarled. **_“Now!”_**

The elf jumped and his eyes widened in fear, he nodded frantically and pointed towards an elaborate pavilion-tent near the crumbled remains of the city’s wall.

“Lead the way, elf.” Barnes pulled the shadow of the Winter Soldier’s persona around him like a cloak.

The elf trembled and kept nodding as he started scrambling away from the black apparition in front of him. But turning away brought no diminishing of his fear, having that at his back, literally made the skin on the back of his neck crawl. But staying still, denying it? No, not an option.

Pulling himself to a halt in front of the King’s guards, the elf’s terrified face had the two guards reaching for their swords, only to halt as they saw what followed him. Their eyes widened and one nodded quickly, turning and entering the pavilion, drawing the attention of the king.

“What is it? Why do you enter?” The king asked, taking little notice of the guard’s face.

“My King… there is a being… a being of blackness.” The guard said brokenly.

“I care not-” the king began.

“Neither do I.” Barnes’ voice was that of the Winter Soldier, cold, hard and accented heavily.

The King leapt to his feet, he sword in hand, only to face a spectre of shadow. His swords swung and…

CLANK.

A metal hand grasped the blade inches from the tip. The hand tightened and Thranduil saw the blade begin to **_distort_**.

“Put your sword away, elf-king.” The man of shadow said, opening his hand.

Thranduil quickly checked the condition of his blade before sliding it into it’s scabbard.

“Who are you? What are you?” The king asked, his voice hesitant.

Before the man answered, a light flared from his chest. A star glowed, the light shimmered and sparkled as it surrounded the man.

“Telperion… Laurelin…” another voice whispered.

Barnes turned and saw an old man dresses in grey robes, it took a few moments but eventually he realized this was the wizard, called Mithrandir by the elves and Tharkûn by Aulë’s dwarrow.

“What…?” The elf-king asked.

“Who are you, that you glow with the light of the Trees of Valinor?” The wizard’s voice hardened and he drew himself up to his full height, drawing darkness to him. He was more than a little alarmed when the man just looked at him and shook his head.

“What?” The elf-king asked again.

“Perhaps a better question would be… How did I come to be here? Hmm?” Barnes smirked.

“What?” The elf-king asked a third time.

Barnes quirked an eyebrow and deliberately looked away from the elf.

“Is that all he can say?” He asked the wizard.

“What?” The elf squawked.

“Hmm… It appears so.” He answered his own question.

The wizard meanwhile was carefully studying the man. His bearing was that of a warrior, weapons covering his body. But it was the metal arm, that intrigued the wizard the most. It was intricate and detailed, it moved exactly as a flesh arm did and most concerning of all was the fact that the man showed no preference in using it. The arm shone bright silver-white, nearly the colour of Mithril, but unlike Mithril the man’s arm didn’t have the internal gleam that caused Mithril to be instantly identifiable.

“You said, a better question? How did you come to be here? Is that the question you want us to ask?”

“Personally I don’t care what questions you ask, wizard. I am here because Nienna asked me. Nienna and Aulë.”

“Nienna? Aulë?” The wizard gasped.

“What? How can we know he speaks truth?” The elf-king spoke again.

“Quite bluntly, elf? I don’t care what you believe. I know the truth. Now, wizard? Where is the hobbit?”

“Hobbit? Bilbo? What do you what with him?” The wizard asked, almost frantically.

“According to Vairë, he and I are to work together to protect the Dwarf-king’s heirs. Where is he?” Barnes’ second question was almost growled, his voice low and rough.

For the first time in his very long life, Gandalf felt true fear, fear for his own life. This man, this being with the light of the Valar on his chest while cloaked in black and armed for battle, this man who spoke of the Valar with such casual, yet deep regard, this man scared him to his bones.

“What did she say? Vairë? What did she tell you?” The wizard pleaded.

Barnes looked at him, silently debating with himself. Nothing was said about whether or not he should tell of what Vairë had passed to Manwë. He decided that he would not tell all he knew, but part of it would get him what information he needed.

“She said many things. But what she had to say about the hobbit and I was clear and simple. **‘** _ **The Warrior from the white wastes will come, he shall listen to only the Childe of green. Together the Warrior and Childe will lay waste to the darkness. Together the Warrior and the Childe will stand between the heirs and the gold-taken king. Together the Warrior and the Childe will stand between the mountain and those who desire it’s riches. Together the Warrior and the Childe will reclaim those lost to gold. Together the Warrior and the Childe will crown the King Under The Mountain.’**_ This is what she passed to Manwë. Aulë – Mahal – begged that I assist the childe, the hobbit, in protecting the heirs. And I shall. Now. I ask again… Where is the hobbit?” Barnes made his voice quiet and calm while he recited Vairë’s words, but let the coldness creep back, so that the last question was like ice.

“In the mountain.” The elf-king said, quickly. He wanted this man… this warrior gone. As quickly as was possible.

“Good. Have one of your guards show me the way.” Something else occurred to him. Something Yavanna asked him to do.

“Where is the stone?” Barnes hoped they knew what stone Yavanna meant, because he didn’t.

Both wizard and elf blinked.

“There.” The elf waved in the direction of a table off to one side. “It’s wrapped in that cloth.”

Both wizard and elf blinked again when the warrior crossed to the table and picked it up.

“For all that the hobbit brought it to you for the right reasons, this has to go back to the mountain. Without it there, the dwarf-king will declare war.” The warrior stated.

“And what of what we were promised? The king had declared that he will not pay, he will not honour his word. He has fallen to gold sickness.”

“We? Who is we? What were you promised?”

“The dwarf king promised payment for supplies to the men of Laketown.”

“And…?” Barnes knew that wasn’t all.

“I was promised the White Gems of Lasgalen.” The elf admitted.

“Huh… gems, money… typical. You’ll get what you were promised.” The warrior shoved the stone inside his vest and turned for the tent’s door. “Gather your armies for war, elf, wizard. Orcs are coming. More than 20,000 Orcs are heading this way, they will be here within hours.”

His words shot alarm through the wizard and the elf-king.

“20,000 Orcs?! What are we to do? I have less than 2000 elves and Bard leads only 200 men from Laketown.” The elf-king said, despair in his voice.

“There are 500 dwarrow warriors coming, the Iron Foot leads them.”

“Daín.” Gandalf whispered.

“Vairë has stated that the forces protecting Erebor will prevail, but that deaths will be high. Aulë and Manwë asked me here to lessen that number. I have with me the means to cut the Orcs’ numbers by over 5000, at least. Maybe more.” Barnes told them. “But without the childe, Baggins that is, and I? The dwarf-king and his heirs will die. Aulë wants to avoid this. There is a great war coming and without Erebor to hold the north, the death toll will be as high as 1 in 4.”

The wizard and the elf-king groaned in anticipated sorrow.

“But with if Erebor holds? Less than 1 in 20 will die. Now do you get it?” Barnes snapped. “If Thorin Oakenshield and his heirs die, Daín will be king, but the heart of the mountain will be gone. If they live? Erebor will rise in defiance of darkness.”

“But Thorin has fallen to gold sickness.” Gandalf moaned.

“Yeah, that won’t last, a few hours is all. Ready your army, elf-king.” Barnes directed as he bent his knees and collected his bags. He turned back and spoke again. "You will not speak of my arrival, of what I have said, of what I have taken. The stone must stay hidden until the Orcs are destroyed. You will not acknowledge my presence in any way... until I speak directly to you. _**Understand?**_ " The last word was snarled out.

He crossed back to the door of the tent and using one bag, nudged at a guard. The guard spun in place, paling as he saw who’d nudged him.

“I need a guide to the mountain. You’re it. Lead the way.” Barnes made no attempt to phrase it as a request, because it wasn’t.

The guard looked alarmed, he cast a quick glance at his king, but when the king nodded, the guard took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“Yes, sir.” The guard said, gesturing to the left. “This way, sir.”

“I am no ‘sir’, I am the Winter Soldier.” Barnes had taken Vairë’s… Statement? Prophecy? Vision? Dream? It didn’t matter what it was, Barnes had taken her words and decided that Winter Soldier was the closest equivalent to the ‘warrior from the white wastes’. It made sense. “You will call me Soldat, when you speak to or about me, understood?” There was no inflection in the warrior’s voice.

“Yes… Soldat.” The guard said.

As they reached the edge of the ruined city, Barnes got his first look at the mountain from ground level. It was bigger than he’d anticipated. He wasn’t going to be able to cart his bags up that without assistance.

“Right. Before we go any further… I need some rope. About 30 feet of it.” Thank God for the madness that was the Howling Commandos’ games.


	15. So... Who are you, then?

Untying the rope from his harness, Barnes tucked the pair of duffels into a small niche in between two rocks. He looped the rope up and pushed it into the weapons bag. Carefully balancing himself on the ledge, he unhooked the carrycase for the Dragunov and braced it beside the duffels. He took a few deeps breaths and laid his hand on the Valar’s star.

“Any advice, Heimdall?” He asked.

A flickering movement caught his eye. The hobbit and a dwarf were talking on the parapets below him. He snorted silently as his sense of the ridiculous erupted.

“Why not?” He grinned.

The warrior in black looked around and took a few minutes to retrieve the rope and plan his descent. Moving towards the east, Barnes spotted handholds that he could use to lower himself. It was the work of seconds to reach the edge where natural rock gave way to dwarf-made blocks. Clambering onto what he guessed was a guard tower, Barnes debated his next move.

Shaking his head in amusement, he began to move silently from the guard post down through the stairs, stopping frequently to strain his hearing for those inside the mountain. It took him by surprise then to have a voice speak from behind him.

“So, who are you then?”

He spun in place, shocked to the core. It had been decades since anyone other than Steven had taken him by surprise. To have someone, anyone, here do it?

A tired and skinny person, short enough for Barnes’ arm to swipe above their head. This could only be Baggins. Oh Gods, he hoped it was.

“You Baggins?” He asked.

“I asked first.” The smaller person frowned as they spoke.

Yeah, he had to be Baggins, from Aulë said, dwarrow would have drawn a weapon on him, the instant he didn’t give the answer they sought.

“Right… You have to be Baggins. I really hope you are, pal.”

“Why?”

“I’m here to help you.”

“To help? How? How can you help Thorin?”

“Nah, not Thorin. You.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because right now? You’re the only person inside the mountain, that’s able to think for themselves.”

“No. Kíli and Fíli can. We’re-” the hobbit cut himself off in mid-sentence. “Why am I telling you this?”

“Because you know you need help. Listen, hobbit, there’s an army of Orcs coming. They’ll be here in a few hours. I’ve got the wizard and the elf-king readying their troops for battle.”

“Battle? They’re coming to try and take the mountain, aren’t they?” Alarm danced on the hobbit’s face. “I need to tell Thorin. He’ll need-”

“Wait! Give me one minute. One minute to explain. Please?” Barnes asked.

“What?”

“Give me one minute to explain. That’s all I’m asking. One minute.”

“One minute?”

“One minute.”

“Alright, you’ve got one minute. Go.”

“Four of the Valar saw what was going to happen here and Vairë the Weaver sent them to Asgard to seek assistance. The prince of Asgard is a… friend of a friend and he recommended my friend and I. My friend can’t come just yet, but I could. So… here I am.”

“The Valar?” The hobbit whispered.

“Manwë, Nienna, Aulë and his wife, Yavanna.” Barnes confirmed.

“Yavanna sent you? To help me? Why you? Why me?”

“I’m a warrior, a soldier. Where I come from… I’m probably the singular most lethal warrior that my world has ever seen. I’m a marksman, a sniper and a hand-to-hand specialist. I didn’t get that way by choice, though, I was taken prisoner and tortured until my mind shut down, then I was oblivious to what they did to me, I followed their orders. Until… my friend found me. He broke their hold on me, helped me to get my mind back, but it wasn’t until Aulë and Yavanna brought Nienna to Asgard that I regained full control of my mind again.”

“And why me?”

“Not sure, really. Manwë mentioned Tooks? About how you’ve claimed the dwarrow heirs?”

“Fíli and Kíli?”

“He never mentioned anyone’s names, other than you and Thorin, that is. But Yavanna and Aulë want them to live and unless you and I work together, they won’t.”

“What?! Why?” The hobbit’s voice became hard.

“Ah, that why. Why they chose you, I mean. You’re protective of the heirs. Good. There’ll be Orcs coming from the north, over one of the mountain’s arms, past an old watchtower. It’s a trap. If the heirs go into the tunnels under the watchtower, they’ll die on it’s steps. Aulë wants to avoid that.”

“How? What about Thorin? He’s got gold sickness. That’s what Balin calls it.”

“He does…” Barnes hesitated. “He… The heirs aren’t the only ones to die.”

“Thorin?” Bilbo whispered.

Barnes just nodded.

The hobbit thought quietly for a minute.

“And you can save them?” he asked.

“No. But **_we_** can. Together we can. Vairë said that together you and I can do a number of things.”

“Like what?”

Barnes hummed while he thought.

“She said, **_‘The Warrior from the white wastes will come, he shall listen to only the Childe of green. Together the Warrior and Childe will lay waste to the darkness. Together the Warrior and the Childe will stand between the heirs and the gold-taken king. Together the Warrior and the Childe will stand between the mountain and those who desire it’s riches. Together the Warrior and the Childe will reclaim those lost to gold. Together the Warrior and the Childe will crown the King Under The Mountain.’_** If we work together, we can save them.” Barnes felt slightly foolish quoting Vairë.

Baggins’ eyes widened dramatically and he paled to a horrid shade of grey.

“Baggins?”

“You’re… you’re a warrior? A soldier from the snow?” The second question was whispered in awe.

“Ah… yeah, I s’pose?”

“My people are hobbits… there’s a legend, it’s been handed down from generation to generation. From before we settled in the Shire, when we wandered, lost and looking for a new home.” Bilbo heaved a few breaths. “A soldier from the snow and ice will come. His coming will herald the return of hobbits to the valley of birth.”

Barnes caught his breath.

“A soldier? Or soldiers?”

“Not that I remember… It was always **_‘A_** soldier’. Why?”

“My friend Steve… he was trapped in ice for… a long time, it doesn’t matter how long exactly. I just got frozen when I wasn’t needed.”

“But you are from the snow?” Bilbo asked, almost pleadingly.

“I s’pose. Russia is the land of snow… and.. ice…” Barnes’ voice trailed off.

Bilbo looked at him intently for a nearly a full minute.

“Alright… How are we doing this? Do I tell them? Do I leave them? Go with you?” the questions were fired in rapid order.

“Um… Maybe… I...” Barnes spluttered. “Manwë mentioned Tooks are adventurous and brave… How do you feel about pranks?”

“Pranks!? Ah… fine, I suppose. Why? How’s that going to help?”

“I’m thinking we might make the dwarrow think that we’ve known each other longer than we actually have.”

“Yes… yes, that might work. I’ve been telling the lads about hobbits, but I never gave a thought to the legends. So…? What’s the story going to be?”

“Well… you’ve know of me, or the Winter Soldier, your whole life? Let’s use that. Manwë gave me a rundown of your life, if I give you a two minute history of mine? Can you act like you’ve known me for years? Just until the battle is over? Once it’s done, I’m happy to tell the truth, but right now, we need to work together, you and I. If the dwarrow think this is the first time we’ve met, they’re not going to trust me and to keep the heirs alive, I **_need_** them to.”

Bilbo studied he warrior dressed in black. Unlike the Asgard or the Valar, or even Gandalf and the elves, Bilbo saw the man underneath. Yes, he saw the warrior, laden with weapons, but he also saw the man, a man who’s jaw twitched with tension, who’s eyes showed a desire for exoneration.

“Alright… let’s do this.” The hobbit said.

 

Dwalin stood on the broken rubble that formed a makeshift parapet, he absently looked out over the valley towards Dale while his mind worked on Thorin’s condition and if there was anything that could be done to alleviate it. The sound of someone clearing their throat made him turn, but obviously his mind was playing tricks on him, just as Thorin’s was. There was no one in sight but a sleeping Kíli.

“Ahem?” The sound came again and Dwalin turned again. Still no one.

Dwalin sighed deeply, it was time to hand control of the company over to Gloín. He headed for the rough stairs at the other end of the parapet.

“Ah… ‘scuse me?” A voice asked… A voice behind and… above him.

Dwalin spun. He blinked. And blinked. He looked and looked but his eyes just didn’t make sense of what he saw.

“Is Bilbo around?” The vision said, commonplace, like it’s position was normal.

“Uh…?” Dwalin grunted.

“Bilbo? Bilbo Baggins? Ah, about 4 foot tall, just a smidge over? Blue-grey eyes, sandy hair? Reckless, brave, a bit rash when pushed? Excellent cook, very proper about manners? Any of this sound at all familiar? It’s just… down there in the valley, the elves? All they said was ‘in the mountain’. But… I don’t see him.”

Dwalin gaped at what he assumed was a Man, but he’d never seen a Man like this before. He held up one hand, in what was the fairly common gesture for ‘Wait’. He crossed to the stair, but instead of making his way down them, he picked up a fist-sized rock and threw it.

CLANG…

The rock hit a pot which fell, dropping another rock, onto a sleeping dwarf. That dwarf sat up quickly, a pair of daggers appearing in his hands almost instantly.

“Wha..?” The dwarf rumbled.

Dwalin tossed another rock at the dwarf, hitting the ground just in front of his feet. The dwarf looked up at Dwalin, but it was the Man that caught his attention. He frowned as he climbed to his feet and kept frowning as he made his way up the stairs.

“Dwalin?”

“Eh…”

“Dwalin? Why is there are a Man hanging upside down from the ramparts?” Kíli asked.

“I asked him, but he doesn’t seem to be able to answer… Is Bilbo around?” Barnes asked. “It’s just… I could do with a bit of a hand.”


	16. Meeting Barnes

“A hand?” Kíli repeated Barnes’ words back to him. “From Bilbo?”

“Of course, from Bilbo.”

“Of course.” Kíli muttered.

“So… is he about? I’m running out of time, here.”

“Ah…” Kíli hesitated. “Yeah… he’s inside…”

Barnes grinned.

“Great. So… two choices? You tell me where to go… or… you go tell him I’m here?”

“Yeah. You wait here. No one goes in the mountain without Thorin’s approval.”

“Okay.” Barnes swung on his rope until he was right-way-up, then paused. “Ah…? Can I wait here? On the battlement?”

Dwalin and Kíli exchanged a few complicated non-verbal comments, using Iglishmêk hand gestures. The older dwarf answered Barnes, as Kíli turned and stomped back down the steps.

“Yeah. But you stay there, at that end of the parapet, away from the stairs.”

“Sure. Can I go get my stuff? I left most of my weapons up there.” Barnes pointed to the mountain above them.

Dwalin frowned, but after a few seconds, nodded. Barnes grinned and using a pair of climbing ascenders, with foot straps, vanished up and over the rampart above. Dwalin watched as the Man climbed with ease, wondering how the hobbit knew him. Less than a minute later, the Man reappeared, with a bag and a box slung over his shoulder… again upside down. The Man settled at the far end of the parapet, carefully lowering both the bag and the box to the ground. The Man looked at Dwalin and nodded to himself, before opening the bag and pulling out… things.

Barnes decided to ignore the dwarf, at least until the other dwarrow joined him. In the meantime, he retrieved a pair of CZ75’s from his weapons stash and checked them over. Finding no visible damage to either gun and double-checking that each was unloaded, he sighted and pulled the trigger a few times, just to be safe. He confirmed that each double-ended magazine was full and after flipping the safety on, he loaded both guns. Putting the pair aside, he did the same to the second pair of CZ75’s before pulling out a third pair of pistols, again both CZ’s, but this time they were CZ 2075’s, a much smaller, more compact pistol. Perfect size for a hobbit’s hand. Then it was the Skorpion’s turn to be inspected and loaded.

“Barnes!” Bilbo’s head appeared, as the hobbit climbed the broken steps.

“Heya, Bilbo.” The Man replied.

“Who are you and why do you seek our hobbit?” The deep, strong voice cut in.

“Excuse me, I am my own hobbit, thank you very much, Thorin Oakenshield.” Bilbo spluttered.

Barnes just snickered.

“Yeah, right. You keep telling yourself that, hobbit.” Barnes ignored the dwarf-king.

“So…? What brings you to Erebor?” The hobbit grinned, literally bouncing on his toes.

The dwarrow looked at the hobbit’s obvious excitement.

“I’m hunting Orcs, of course.”

“Orcs?” Thorin cut in again. “Why would you ask for the hobbit’s help? He has no weapons training.”

“Yes, I do.” Everyone present turned to the hobbit.

“You denied having any.” Thorin started.

“No. You only asked about axes or swords. I can’t use them. But I can use Barnes’ weapons.” Bilbo interrupted.

“Oh.” What else could Thorin say?

“So why do you need Bilbo’s help, then?” Kíli asked, curiously.

“There’s too many of them for me to take on by myself and I heard the elves down in the valley talking about a Halfling being in the mountain. Knowing that outsiders tend to call hobbits, Halflings, gave me a clue, add to that, Bilbo is the only hobbit to leave the shire in the last few years? I was fairly confident it was him. I was hoping it was him. He’s the only hobbit, that’s had any training with my weapons and if it was him? Then, if I could talk him into being my sharpshooter, I could get down in the thick of it, while he picked off Orcs at a distance.”

“Why would you want that?” Kíli asked, leaning slightly forward.

Barnes looked at the young dwarf before turning to Bilbo and raising an eyebrow. Thorin caught the look and quickly looked to the hobbit, who’s face was thoughtful. Then the hobbit nodded.

“I am the Winter Soldier, the Warrior from the White Wastes, a protector and a guardian to those in need. I am proficient in more than 10 different weapons. A distance marksman, a sharpshooter, an assassin and a close-quarters-combat specialist.” Gone was the light-hearted gentle voice and in it’s place as a hard voice, not cold but hard. The voice of an assassin. The voice of a warrior.

It made Dwalin, Gloín and Thorin straighten in response.

“Did you bring the Dragunov? Can I use it? Or am I going to be stuck with the Skorpion?”

Bilbo’s hopeful expression and confusing words made the no sense to the dwarrow.

“Yes, I brought the Dragunov. Yes, you can use it. No, you won’t have to use the Skorpion. You can use the 2075’s when you’re ready to put the Dragunov aside.”

“Dragon-of?” Thorin growled.

“Drag-un-ov. D-R-A-G- ** _U-N-O-V_**.” Bilbo corrected.

“Wha’s tha’ then?” The ever curious Bofur asked.

“It’s a long range weapon, designed for target elimination.” Barnes made it sound a little more complicated than ‘it’s a sniper rifle’. Not that the dwarrow would know what a sniper rifle was, but…

“Thorin? We’ve company.”

Gloín pointed down into the valley in front of the gate. An army of elves was gathering.

Barnes was suddenly glad that he’d taken the time to give Bilbo a short and dirty introduction to the guns he’d brought with him. It looked like fighting time was almost here. He grinned widely… the punk didn’t know what he was missing out on.

 

For the next half hour he listened as the elves and the Men tried to convince Thorin to honour his word. As soon as the fighting was over, he was going to have a **_word_** with the dwarf king.

Sure enough, just like Aulë said, the other dwarrow turned up. They came over part of the mountain, lead by a dwarf with a red beard… riding a giant pig. **_A PIG!_**

Not that anyone took that much notice. Of the pig, anyway. A few insults thrown about and the elves and the dwarrow were fighting. The dwarrow still in the mountain cheered and jeered, at the incoming dwarrow and the elves, respectively.

Then the ground began to rumble like thunder, groans and roars began to be heard, quickly the fighters stopped. All turned to look beyond the battlefield, to one of the outer arms of the mountain itself. Giant worms burst through the rock, arching high into the air, before the four beasts retreated back into the earth. A horn blew and Orcs burst through the holes the were-worms created. They looked like bloody monsters out of a science-fiction movie. That one Darcy made him sit through. Dire? Desert? Dune? Desolation? D- something, it was set of a desert planet, anyway.

 

Thorin watched their arrival, he saw the Orcs stream down to trap the dwarrow army between the elves and the Orcs. And he turned away.

He turned and descended the steps of rubble. He turned from his kin.

Barnes’ jaw tightened and he waited. Nienna had said Vairë was adamant, he must wait until the Orcs brought the catapult trolls forward. But it wasn’t easy.

More minutes past. Dwarrow on field died. Elves died. Men died.

And all those in the mountain could do was watch.


	17. Joining the Battle

When Dwalin returned shaking his head, shoulders low in despair and frustration.

“He is lost. Just as Thrór was lost, so is Thorin.” The guard said clearly for all to hear.

Fíli and Kíli groaned, their hands reaching for each other.

Balin slumped as he sat on a small boulder.

Gloín and Óin sighed in defeat, lowering their heads.

Ori clung to Dori, who just shook his head.

Nori swore quietly.

Bombur wiped at the tears on his face as he reached for his brother.

Bofur patted Bombur’s hand on his shoulder, his head buried in his other hand.

Bifur began to sing a mourning song in Khuzdul.

Bilbo looked at Barnes.

“Your turn, then.” Was all he said.

One by one the dwarrow looked at the hobbit, before turning to the Man. When all 12 dwarrow were looking at Barnes, he spoke.

“That won’t be necessary, Bilbo. Thorin will fight it… and win. But… he will walk into this battle ready to loose, ready to die. We will not… **_let… that… happen… Understand?”_**

Barnes’ voice started calm and quiet, but as he continued it got harder and sterner. By the time he’d finished the few comments, every dwarrow present knew that this Man wasn’t to be trifled with, this Man was Dangerous. With a capital D.

“Fíli, Kíli. You’re with Dwalin, the three of you will stay with Thorin. But… no matter **_what_** Thorin says, no matter **_how_** rational it sounds, no matter **_what_** happens… **_you… will… not…_** enter the tunnels under the watchtower on Ravenhill. Not if you want to live to see this battle end.”

The two younger dwarrow looked from Barnes to each other. They nodded almost frantically, as they quickly crossed to stand with Dwalin.

“Good. Now… as you were. Until this battle ends, Thorin must not now that we are aware of his intentions.” Barnes stepped over to Bilbo. “Bilbo? I’ve set the Dragunov up in the western guard-room. There’s three magazines ready to go, pick off the trolls first, then go for anything that moves. When you finish the three mags, grab the 2075’s. There’s a belt with spare mags, wear that and head for the watchtower. Don’t worry about any empty mags, we can find them later.”

As the Man spoke, he was pulling knives from his bag. Fíli spotted this and watched as Barnes slid blades into sheaths all over his body. Just as he was about to speak, Kíli raised his head.

From deep in the mountain the light of the forges backlit Thorin as he strode purposefully from the throne room, a sword hanging from his hand. Kíli stood quickly and took a few steps forward, drawing in a deep breath.

“I will not hide behind **_a wall of stone, while others FIGHT OUR BATTLE FOR US!”_**

Kíli’s voice got harder and stronger with each word until he was nearly screaming. Thorin continued to stride forward, seemingly without reaction.

“Tis not in my blood, Thorin.” Kíli ended earnestly.

Thorin stopped in front of him, looking at the young prince with new eyes.

“No… It is not.” His voice was quiet, soft, gentle.

Kíli’s eyes welled with unshed tears, this was his uncle. This was the dwarf he had sworn to follow.

“We are sons of Durin.” Thorin whispered. Kíli nodded slightly and his chin quivered with emotion. “And Durin’s folk… do not flee from a fight.” Thorin smiled softly as his nephew and with a hand to the back of lad’s head drew him close enough to rest their foreheads together.

They stayed like this for only a few seconds, but it was enough. Kíli tried to hold back his tears as his uncle stepped around him to speak to the rest of the company.

“I have no right…” He might have turned and followed Thorin and Dwalin, but that didn’t mean that he actually heard what was being said… until…

“Will you follow me one last time?” Thorin asked the company quietly.

 _‘One last time.’_ Ran through Kíli’s head. _‘He was right. Barnes was right. Uncle doesn’t expect to live past today. How could he? How **dare** he?!’_

The youngest prince watched as each dwarf drew tall and pulled their weapons to them.

“We are in here, Thorin and the battle is out there. How do we get out there?” Balin asked, sword in hand.

Thorin drew a breath, but was cut off.

“I got that.” Everyone turned to Barnes.

“What?” Fíli asked. “How?”

“Stand back. About where that ladder is, would be good. Bilbo? Up to the parapets. To the far right. You’ll have to use the guard-room to shield you from the blast. Remember… Three mags for the Dragunov and then the 2075’s.” As he spoke Barnes was pulling a length of pipe from his bag. “I’ve only got two of these, so I really hope one’s enough.” He muttered.

 ** _“Wait!”_** Thorin cried. When Barnes paused with the pipe resting on his shoulder, Thorin continued. “Bombur… Durin’s War Horn. It’s in the first guard-room on the left. You’re the only one with enough lungs to sound it. Remind them who we are.”

Bombur grinned and clambered after Bilbo. At the top of the stair the two split and went in two different directions. One left and one right. When the two were in place, each whistled.

“As you were, Master Barnes.” Thorin waved.

“Not until we’re all back behind that ladder.”

“Why the ladder?” Ever curious Kíli asked.

“Protection.”

“Ah… A ladder affords little protection.” Thorin warned.

“Speak for yourself, Uncle.” Kíli grinned. “I’m all for ladders as protection.” He remembered Goblintown well.

“Sorry, guys, the ladder’s not the protection. The distance is. Bilbo and… was is Bombur? Right. Bilbo and Bombur are shielded in the guard-rooms, but we are exposed, down here. The boulders the ladder is leaning against are the best protection we have.”

“Ah, well… Back behind the boulders, lads.” Balin directed.

“Ready, Master Barnes?” Thorin asked from Barnes’ left.

Barnes stood tall and called out.

“Bombur! Sound the horn!” The Man’s voice reached the rotund dwarf at the same time as the dwarf’s hands closed around the horn.

A few seconds past and…

The deep bellow of the horn filled the mountain, causing many of the dwarrow to cover their ears in shock. There was a moment of complete silence, inside _**and**_ outside the mountain. It was also closely followed by a puff of smoke from the pipe on Barnes’ shoulder. A trail of white smoke leading in the direction of the rubble-blocked gate was the only warning.

**_B-O-O-M!_ **

The rubble, made of boulders, blew out in an explosive crash, but thankfully due to their size, no boulder went very far. Instead, they fell and formed a rough bridge between the gate and the valley.

Thorin grasped his sword tight and began to move. Within feet he was running, Kíli on his right, Fíli on his left. The rest of the company behind them. A quick glance saw Barnes right behind Thorin, between Fíli and Kíli, the position usually filled by the person named the _Uzbadya-Imrikh_ , the Royal Shield.

As Thorin cleared the bridge he saw the ranks of Daín’s warriors spin back, clearing a path for him and those at his heels. As he passed Daín, the redhead cried loudy.

“To the king! To the King!”

The Lord of the Iron Hills joined the charge, slotting in neatly behind Dwalin, to Fíli’s left. He looked near stunned to see a Man in the position of guarding the King’s back. Daín’s warriors joined the phalanx and suddenly Thorin was leading an army into battle.

“Du Bekár!” He let loose a war-cry.


	18. A Warrior's Dance

Thorin raised his sword high and brought the octagonal metal shield around in front of his chest. Above the din of battle he heard a series of loud noises, almost a pop, almost a bang, but not quite either. A sound he had never heard before.

Less than a heartbeat after hearing a pop/bang, Thorin saw the head of a troll just… disappear. A pop/bang and another troll was headless. Behind him, he heard Barnes crow.

“Damn, he’s got a good eye!”

Another heartbeat and they were in the thick of it. He spared a second to check on his Company. Fíli opting for only one sword gave him greater power behind each swing, Kíli as always matching his brother, swing for swing. Thorin’s heart swelled with pride and fear for his nephews. Watching the Ri brothers was a joy, Nori cutting Orcs down with a multi-headed axe, Dori slicing with a cutting-spear and gentle Ori wielding a brutal war-hammer. The brothers Ur, Bombur joining the battle to fight alongside his kin, swinging a flail-mace, while Bofur, hammer in hand, was pounding in unison with Bifur’s battle-scythe. Gloín’s axe was spinning freely as Óin used his steel-tipped staff as a bludgeon, the short spikes ripping through flesh like a knife through butter.

Barnes watched in amusement, as a small axe was thrown, first by Bofur to hit an orc fighting Nori, then by Nori to kill an orc fighting Ori, then by Ori back to Bofur. Then Bofur was throwing the small axe to kill an orc riding a troll. Why hadn’t Bilbo taken out that troll? Before Barnes could think about that Bofur used shields held by Nori and Gloín as steps to climb up the troll’s arm and take control of the beast.

Now that was down to hand to hand, Barnes had a long fighting dagger in each hand and was cutting hands from limbs whenever they got within reach. Then there was a clearing, a lull and Thorin and the redheaded dwarf, leader of the incoming dwarrow, were standing in the middle of a battlefield greeting each other like they were at the park, occasionally swinging a weapon and killing an orc that got too close.

“Hey, Cousin… what took you so long?” The redhead asked.

Thorin just gave a bitter laugh, without answering, as he embraced the other dwarf.

“There’s too many of these buggers, Thorin. I hope you’ve got a plan.”

“Aye” Thorin agreed, looking to the signal flags set up on Ravenhill’s watch-tower. “We’re going to take out their leader.”

“Azog.” Daín gasped.

Thorin took a few steps away and swung up onto the back of a great goat, Barnes a heartbeat behind him.

“Thorin, you cannot do this. You’re our King.” Daín argued.

“That is why I must do it.”

“And how do you plan to fight your way singlehanded to Ravenhill? Just the two of you?”

Before Thorin or Barnes could comment, a cry came from behind them. As a battle wagon drawn by six War Rams came between Thorin and Daín, Barnes was suddenly glad that he’d stayed at the king’s heels, whenever he moved. He definitely didn’t fancy getting caught by the cutting blades of the wagon’s wheels.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this.” Balin warned his brother. Dwalin exchanged looks of alarm with Fíli and Kíli who were in the wagon with him.

“To Ravenhill!” Thorin swung his sword to point the way.

“Hold tight, lads.” Balin advised.

“You’re all mad bastards.” Daín cried, stepping back from the wagons wheel blades. “I like it!” He watched as they barrelled through the scattered Orcs. “May Durin save you all.” The last was said like a blessing given.

 

Watching the rather gruesome effect of the wagon’s wheels on the ranks of Orcs and the destruction that it was creating, Barnes decided that Thorin was the most vulnerable member of this new squad. Giving a split second to hope that the goat he rode would continue to follow Thorin’s, he dropped the reins and let his hands reach for the pistols on his thighs. Flicking the safeties off, Barnes reached deep into his mind for the calm surety that was all that was left of the Winter Soldier and proceeded to lay waste to the enemy that stood between him and his mission.

With the first Brrrt noise, Thorin looked around. Orcs were collapsing, any within a few yards fell, black blood bursting from them in splatters. Glancing behind him, he saw Barnes, but this was not the Barnes of earlier, this Barnes… Thorin didn’t know whether to be terrified or awed. With his face half blackened, his weapons in his hands and death in his eyes, Barnes was the living embodiment of all that a warrior could be.

He bared his teeth at Thorin and pointed a weapon right at him. The weapon burped and Thorin jerked back. As he did, an orc that had taken advantage of Thorin’s distraction, lost it’s head to Barnes’ weapon.

“Pay attention, dwarf.” The man snarled.

Thorin swung his sword and removed a head from another orc and pushed his Ram on towards the watch-tower.

“Better.” He heard behind him.

 

Reaching the shattered remains of the bridge that lead to the watch-tower, mere seconds after Thorin and Barnes, Dwalin, Kíli and Fíli slid to a halt. Thorin stood leaning against a set of stairs that lead into thin air, he was just standing there, looking. The three followed his line of sight and they, too, slumped against the stairs, their jaws hanging low in shock.

Barnes had a long-ish dagger in each hand and he twisted and spun, like he was dancing. A dance of death. Orcs surrounded him, but as the four watched, one after another, the Orcs died.

This one slashed through the neck, it’s head neatly removed.

The next, had deep cuts to it’s legs, black blood spurting like a geyser as it swayed and fell.

Another, Barnes tossed a knife in the air and as it fell, his hand switched grips and in an overhead motion, he stabbed down, pulling the knife down through the poor quality armour and into the beast's heart.

Another toss and another grab and a knife extended, a swing upwards and a blade pushed up, under the jaw, through the mouth and into the brain, a quick yank and Barnes had two knives in his hands. Effortlessly and in a seamless move, he flicked a knife over his shoulder and into a harness, then in what looked like a continuation of the same movement, he grasped a blade shaped a little like a ram’s horn, from his right arm.

Instead of sheathing the knife in his right hand he flicked it up and grabbed it by the blade-tip and with a snap of his wrist, the knife was embedded through the eye of another Orc. His hand fell to his thigh and when it came up, it held a partner to the odd-shaped blade.

And he continued his deadly dance.

“I feel a wee bit redundant, Thorin.” Dwalin drawled, standing beside his king.

“Aye.” Was all Thorin could say.

A flash of motion and Kíli’s attention was torn from the warrior in black, a figure crept up one of the towers that supported the bridge. Bilbo. He was carrying something on his back, something bulky and cumbersome.

“Where is he?” Thorin wondered, looking across the ice to the ruins of the watch-tower, his eyes searching for Azog.

“It looks empty.” Kíli commented.

“I think Azog has fled.” Fíli added.

“I don’t think so.” Disagreed Thorin. “Fíli… take your brother. Scout out the towers. Keep low and-”

“No.” Barnes cut him off.

“What? We need to know what’s in-”

“Not them.”

“Why not?” Only the memory of Barnes’ deadly dance on the bridge stopped Thorin’s aggression at being countermanded.

“If they go into the tunnels under the watch-tower… they will die… and so will you.” Barnes said bluntly.

“What? Who says this?” Thorin growled at someone threatening his sister-sons.

“Vairë, the Weaver of Destinies, according to what Manwë told me.”

“Manwë?” Thorin gasped.

“Yeah. He and Aulë asked for help… and well? Here I am.” Barnes shrugged, hands out.

“Aulë?” Kíli frowned. “Who’s Aulë?”

“Aulë is what the elves and Men call Mahal, Kíli.” Thorin told his nephew.

“ _Mahal?_ ” Both Fíli and Kíli whispered.

“You met Manwë and Mahal?” Thorin asked. “In person or in a dream?”

“In person. Manwë, Nienna, Aulë and his wife, Yavanna.” Barnes replied.

All four dwarrow gaped for a moment, their eyes met and each nodded. As one the four turned to Barnes and dropped to one knee, heads bowed.

“Command us, Warrior of Mahal.” Thorin gestured to the four of them.


	19. A Battle Plan

“Baggins? You hear me?” Barnes said as he touched something at his throat.

“Of course I can hear you, Barnes. I’m perched right above you.” The hobbit’s voice startled Barnes and the dwarrow, for different reasons.

Barnes was startled because he expected to hear the hobbit’s voice via an ear-piece, while the dwarrow were startled because they, excluding Kíli, had no idea Bilbo wasn’t still at Erebor’s gates.

“Right… How many mags have you got?” Barnes asked.

“All of them.”

“So… the six on the belt and the two already in the 2075’s? Good, so we’ll-”

“No. _**All**_ of them. I brought your bag and I even packed up the Dragunov, but I couldn’t carry it and the bag, so… I figured the bag had more rounds, so it was more important.”

Barnes sighed and let go of a tension he hadn’t been aware of.

“Where exactly are you?” He asked.

“Look up.” Was the answer.

When Barnes and the dwarrow looked directly up, they saw a small hand appear from the broken bricks of the bridge tower and wave to them.

“Good. Arm yourself, hobbit. Shoot anything that comes from the mountain.”

“Wait!” A feminine voice called.

“Tauriel!” Kíli cried.

“King Thorin! I bring news. Bolg, Azog’s spawn, he comes from Gundabad, he leads more Orcs, they’re coming from the north.” The she-elf that rounded the broken stairs had hair the colour of autumn fire.

Thorin looked at her and saw only concern and as she had barely glanced in the direction of Kíli, even though it was Kíli that cried out her name, Thorin knew that was where her worry was focused.

“Who are you? What are you called, elf? Why do you tell us this? Thranduil would not do such a thing.” Thorin asked.

“No, he would not. But he is no longer my King, I am banished, for I would not leave your people to fight alone. For that, I am banished.” She repeated.

“Your name, lady?” Barnes asked.

“I am Tauriel Firelily.” She answered.

“And I am Legolas Greenleaf.” A second elf appeared. “Thorin, King Under the Mountain, this is yours and I return it to you in good faith. I apologise for my behaviour and actions during your… time in Eryn Galen.” The blonde male elf bowed to Thorin and offered him a sword, it’s gently curving blade topped by a hilt that looked a little like a tooth.

“Why are you here, son of Thranduil?” Thorin frowned as his fingers closed around Orcrist’s hilt.

“Because I see, what my father will not. The dragon has fallen and unless we wish for the mountain to fall to Mordor, we must work together. My father will not see anything he does not wish to see, but I? I see and hear much that I do not wish to. I offer Erebor my bow and blades, not just for this battle, but for everyday that I live, be-it one day, one thousand days or one thousand years.” Legolas held out one of his fighting daggers to Thorin.

“And I, mine.” Tauriel reached for a dagger at her back.

Thorin held up a hand to stop her.

“Keep them, Legolas Greenleaf, Tauriel Firelily, you will have need of them, this day. But I accept your offers. Erebor will welcome those who fight for her.” Thorin reached out and folded Legolas’s fingers back over the hilt of a dagger in his hand. He then gestured to Barnes. “This is Barnes, he is Mahal’s Champion and it is he who commands us, today.”

The two elves looked at him and both gave short bows.

“No one enters the tunnels under the watch-tower, to do so is certain death. Vairë has told of the deaths of Thorin, Fíli and Kíli. We will not let that happen. Baggins? Load up, place the spare mags on rocks at your sides, nothing where it can be knocked out of reach.” Barnes began.

“Yes, Barnes. Ah… Do you need more mags for the 75’s?” Both elves jerked when a voice came from seemingly nowhere.

“No, it’s time for hands-on, now.” Barnes answered, an idea blooming in his mind. “But there’s some round grenades in the bag. Drop them down, one at a time. Kíli? Tauriel? You catch them. Don’t pull the little pins out and don’t drop them… And Baggins? Stay quiet, don’t let the Orcs know where you are.”

A small hand appeared above them and a round metal ball about the size and shape of an apple was dropped. Kíli caught it and carefully placed it on the ground. Tauriel caught the next and the cycle repeated until there were a dozen balls at their feet.

“Baggins? In a pocket on one end of the bag, you’ll find a roll of tape, it’s silvery-grey in colour and shiny, drop that down, too.”

Tauriel caught the roll and handed it to Barnes, who had re-sheathed the two curved blades… except that neither blade actually had a sheath, both blades seemed to attach to Barnes arm and thigh with no visible means of security.

“This is duct-tape.” He picked up one of the balls. “This is a grenade. How many arrows have you got?”

“We’ve each three dozen.” Legolas replied.

“Good, give me one.”

Legolas reached over his shoulder and pulled a long narrow arrow out and handed it to Barnes, who carefully tore off a length of tape and used it to strap the grenade to the arrow.

“Be careful with these, when you remove the pin, there’s only a five second delay before it explodes, so don’t pull the pin until you’re ready to fire. There’s only twelve grenades so make them count. Aim for the greatest density of Orcs, it doesn’t matter if you hit one… probably better if you don’t. More damage if it’s between Orcs when it goes off.” Barnes showed them quickly where the pin was and how to remove it.

“I doubt there’ll be more than Azog in the tower, he won’t want to share the glory of killing Thorin, Fíli or Kíli with anyone other than Bolg. Thorin? I know you want them, but… I’m sorry… you _**don’t**_ have the hand-to-hand training _**needed**_ to kill them both. I do. What I need you, Dwalin, Fíli and Kíli to do is take out any Orcs that come from behind the tower. Legolas, Tauriel? You’re to stop any coming from the battlefield.”

“And from the north?”

“I got that.” The voice from above answered.

“Good. Thorin? Dwalin? Fíli? Kíli? Try and stay off the ice. Azog won’t hesitate to loose his own troops, just to kill you. Stay alive, you hear me. **_Stay. Alive.”_**

Thorin understood. He might not like it, but he understood. As long as Azog and Bolg died, he wouldn’t begrudge it happening at the hands of Mahal’s Champion.

Dwalin gasped.

“There he is.” The guard pointed to the pale Orc as it stood on a collapsed stairway.

“He will die, Thorin. I promise.” Barnes took a deep breath. “Now, let’s do this.” He held out a hand, palm down.

All four dwarrow and the two elves nodded and one by one placed their hands over his.

“For Erebor.” Barnes said.

 ** _“For Erebor.”_** The others replied.


	20. Azog and Bolg

Barnes dropped his right hand to his thigh as his left crossed his body, he raised his ulaks and held them close in front of himself. A glance to Thorin and Barnes stepped out of the shadows, it was time to put HYDRA’s training to work… just not the way they’d intended.

Thanking whatever deities that might happen to be listening **_and_** FRIDAY for suggesting he wear boots with steel studs in the soles, Barnes made his way out onto the ice. It took perhaps 30 seconds for the first orc to join him on the ice and within moments of that he was surrounded. He brought his ulaks to his chest and tapped them both against the harness-clasp that was embedded with the Valar’s star, a deep breath and he let his eyes close for a space of a heartbeat. Opening his eyes, Barnes began to move.

A slash here.

A stab there.

A twist.

A punch.

Another slash.

And so it went. As Orcs fell, pops could be heard, so it was clear that Azog had split his forces even further, the Orc must have known that Thorin would come after him with his best warriors and hopefully his nephews. Occasionally a scream or a cry could be heard and Barnes really hoped that it wasn’t a dwarrow. He was here for a reason, though and so he fought on.

Barnes let the fight fill him, he danced ever closer to the watch-tower, until there was only ice between he and the Orc there. The Orc, however was nearly frothing at the mouth that this Man had destroyed his finest warriors with little regard for anything but efficiency.

“Man!” Azog snarled.

Barnes simply smirked.

“You will die, Man. You cannot stand against the first of the uruk-hai.”

Barnes studied the being as it stood on the steps of the tower. Tall, sickly white, the Orc in it’s arrogance just stood there. Sharp and angular, it’s armour covered it’s torso well, but Barnes’ eyes used the Winter Soldier’s skills and picked out the places of weakness.

The throat, armpits, waist and of course, it’s legs and their femoral arteries. To name the obvious points, was of little challenge to the Soldier and it proceeded to give Barnes a detailed analysis of the Orc’s armour and picked the design to pieces. Not to mention the stupid idea of a weapon shoved through it’s arm.

From a tactical stand-point that was just… wrong. Locking or catching the blades, rendered the entire left side of the Orc’s body useless.

Ah, well. It wasn’t like the beast was going to live long enough to need decent armour, anyway.

“Can you not speak, Man? Or are you too scared?” The Orc said, when it became clear that Barnes wasn’t going to respond.

“Why should I bother?” Barnes finally said, his voice calm.

The Orc snarled and leapt from the steps to the ice.

“You will die, then I shall take great joy in taking the heads of dwarves. The Line of Durin will end today.”

Barnes shook his head in disbelief. If he waited for the Orc, they’d still be posturing when spring came. Barnes stepped forward and ducked down deep to his right, coming up, he pushed that ulak forward and sliced upward and inward at the same time.

A scream of pain and rage answered him. He dipped out to the left and punched the left ulak up… hard. A burst of black blood let him know he’d hit his target without even having to look. The Orc’s left arm swung in his direction and Barnes brought up his right ulak and let the blade catchers, notched into the head of the blade, fit over the edge of the Orc’s blade/prosthesis. He brought the left ulak up to join his right and with a sharp screech of metal-on-metal, slid both ulaks up the Orc’s blade to the cup that protected the stump of the Orc’s left arm. A burst of power from his own prosthesis, allowed Barnes to pull and with a wet squelching noise, the blade was dragged out of the Orc’s arm.

Azog staggered back a few steps in shock, raising the stump of his left arm in front of his face. He looked past it at the Man and suddenly realised there was something off about the man.

Barnes dropped his right hand and let the ulak in it attach itself to his thigh and flipped the ulak from his left hand over to his right. He took the Orc blade in his metal hand and proceeded to crush it. Slowly. Making sure that Azog watched every second.

Azog saw his arm-blade bend and twist, saw it become little more than a lump of metal. That was when the Man reached over with his right hand and with a sharp pull, removed the entire left sleeve of his shirt.

A metal arm.

A full metal arm.

Azog looked from the arm up to the Man’s eyes and saw death in them. His death. He tried to bring his right arm up to block the Man’s swing, but he couldn’t, he eyes fell to his own right arm and saw it hanging uselessly at his side.

“Azog, the dwarrow of Durin are under my protection. Neither you nor your spawn will take their lives. And I will happily give them your head.” The Man said, his voice colder than the ice they stood on.

Azog shuddered in fear as he watched the Man bring up a blade and felt it touch his neck, then there was a flare of white-hot pain and blackness.

Barnes stood still for a second. The Orc was dead, just as Aulë wanted.

 ** _“Barnes!”_** Bilbo’s frantic voice erupted in Barnes’ ear. **_“Bolg!_** Bolg has **_Kíli!_** Go to the left. Up the stairs and then to the right. Through the archway to the left again. Hurry! He’s already knocked Tauriel down. **_Hurry!”_**

Barnes moved without thought. He followed the hobbit’s directions and emerged from the arched door just as the younger Orc laid Kíli face up over his knee, one hand holding the dwarf stretched out, unable to move, the other holding the sword-end of his multi-headed axe ready to thrust it down into the dwarf’s chest.

A rapid-sounding growl surged up and out of Barnes’ throat, enough to halt the Orc in shock. Without slowing Barnes reached his metal hand over his shoulder and slipped free one of Stark’s Vibranium fighting daggers. His feet had him reaching the kneeling Orc at the same time as his Vibranium arm, holding a Vibranium blade reached the perfect height to remove the Orc’s head from it’s shoulders.

It took a dozen steps past the headless body for Barnes to come to a stop. He turned to face the dwarf.

“Barnes?” The hobbit’s voice came. “I can’t see… is Kíli…?”

Barnes made his eyes search out the young dwarf. Kíli lay still stretched out over the Orc’s knee, frozen in shock. Barnes strode back and yanked the dwarf up, he held the dwarf at eye height and shook him slightly.

“What did I say? I said stay off the ice. I said stay out of the tower.” Barnes, gently, tossed the dwarf to the ground. “Hobbit? Kíli’s alive and if he keeps out of my way, he may just stay alive.”

“Oh, thank Yavanna!” The hobbit gasped in relief.

“Kíli on your feet, bring the Orc’s head.” Barnes directed as he retraced his steps back to the ice.

Exactly where he left it, the bloodless head of the Pale Orc lay nestled up against the bank beside the steps. Barnes bent briefly and grabbed the head by one of the bat-like ears. With Kíli and Tauriel now at his heels, Barnes headed back to the bridge towers.

“Time to let the grunts know their leaders are dead.” He told Thorin as he reached the dwarf.

 


End file.
